


i've never gotten drunk, but i'd be a punk (if my mom would let me)

by ASOCIAL CLIMBER (maxxxined)



Category: Badflower (Band), I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), Palaye Royale (Band), The Brobecks, Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Dates, Bad Parenting, Childhood Trauma, Closeted Character, Dallon Weekes Is A Dork, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Meetings, First Relationship, First Time Blow Jobs, Gay Bar, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, Light-Hearted, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Minor Violence, Mormonism, Movie Night, Multi, Nurses & Nursing, Partying, Porn Watching, Religious Conflict, Romantic Comedy, Safe Sane and Consensual, Self-Acceptance, Sexting, Sibling Rivalry, Swimming, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, merfolk, trying my hand at a longfic so here we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 48,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26850460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxxxined/pseuds/ASOCIAL%20CLIMBER
Summary: When Dallon Weekes, a closeted, gay, orthodox Mormon, is dared to go to a gay bar, he doesn't pass up the opportunity. But when his night ends with his first kiss and a million questions, Dallon starts craving that feeling of rebellion and adventure.Add a list of dares by his asshole bandmates, roommates with erratic personalities, a bully, an ex, and a fishy secret, and Dallon starts to wonder if this is what he signed up for when he decided to leave his old life behind. Between two homophobic parents and a brother who surpassed him in everything, Dallon just wanted to see what life outside his sheltered community was like.Nobody told him it'd be so damn hard.
Relationships: Awsten Knight/Geoff Wigington, Emerson Barrett & Remington Leith, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Ryan Seaman/Dallon Weekes
Comments: 88
Kudos: 55





	1. i won't be fine, really

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> general cw this entire fic for religious trauma / religious upbringing, im not shitting on religion at all but these are based off of some of my experiences growing up quite sheltered :)
> 
> no tws, i hope you enjoy!! <3

This wasn't going to happen.

Dallon was standing in front of a gay bar, trying to calm his buzzing nerves, unsure how he even got himself into this situation.

Actually, he knew how he ended up here. It had all begun after a practice with his band, The Brobecks, when they were all sitting around chatting.

Dallon was talking about his visit with his parents, the way his aunt chastised his choice of outfit at church.

"-and then she said, 'you look like a homosexual wearing a jacket like that'! Can you believe it?" Dallon exclaimed, laughter dying down when no one else even chortled.

"Yeah, I can. You are a homosexual Dallon." Michael rolled his eyes, zipping up his guitar case and slinging it over his shoulder.

Dallon had started The Brobecks back in highschool, way before he had discovered his sexuality.

It should have been obvious—no girls wanted to date him, even when he wrote songs for them, or offered them roses, or invited them to board-game night with his family. But Dallon had never considered that guys were an option; the thought had simply never even crossed his mind.

Dallon loved his family, he really did. But as much as he hated to admit it, he had been sheltered for most of his life by their religious beliefs, between blocking out every horror movie that crossed the television or every song that played on the radio that wasn't "clean" enough.

"Dallon James Weekes, do you remember what happened to that poor family after listening to that Hotel California garbage?"

A relative was always there to yap in his ear whenever he was caught smuggling cassettes, earning a smack on the hand and a reminder of what God did to sinners.

The Brobecks had been his savior, the paradise he could escape to whenever his parents' scolding had gotten the best of him. Micheal, Matt and Bryan had shown him that music didn't have to be about loving Jesus, that songs could have thrilling story lines behind them like murder or love.

It had been during one of their practices when it dawned on Dallon why he never felt attracted towards girls: he was gay, the one thing his parents told him never to be.

They hadn't come straight out and told him not to be gay, but the way they warned Dallon about the dangers of being queer made him suspect they wouldn't take the news very well. Heck, one of his cousins had a baby before marriage, and he never heard from her again.

But his bandmates, they were his buddies, his best friends. They barely batted and eye when he came out, resuming their movie night as usual.

"Hey guys, I just wanted to say... I think I'm gay." Dallon had been standing awkwardly next to the glowing TV like a white birch tree, trying to avert their gaze from whatever comedy they had voted on.

"We know." Matt didn't even give him a glance, chuckling at the movie. "Hey, that chick was in the film we watched last week!"

While his bandmates had taken it so lightly, he didn't think his family would react the same way, especially when they made those types of comments during church. What was so gay about a red jacket?

"Dallon, not to be rude, but you're kinda exactly like Ned Flanders." Michael patted Dallon on the shoulder, eyes carrying a teasing glint.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're a teacher's pet, a mama's boy, an avid church-goer. You gotta admit it Dallon, you're not very adventurous." Bryan piped up from behind his keyboard, wearing the same grin as Michael was.

Dallon scoffed, internally wishing he didn't agree so much. "Oh please, I can be adventurous."

"Then go to a gay bar." Michael said flatly, out the garage door before Dallon could sputter an excuse. He was rendered speechless, watching Mike's guitar bob as he walked down the pavement, sun shining down on its black case.

"I think it'd be good for you!" Michael yelled from the driveway, making Dallon peek around the neighborhood, praying nobody had heard that.

"Yeah, well, guess what? I can, and I will!" Dallon shouted back, utterly offended that Michael thought he wouldn't go to a gay bar. He was a 22 year old who lived alone in Utah, he could make his own decisions.

All he wanted to do was to prove his smug bandmates wrong. He could go to a gay bar and he would... as soon as he figured out where they were.

Dallon couldn't help his competitiveness; growing up in a household where everything was a race, including his height, didn't fare very well on his self esteem. Add one perfect brother to the mix, and all Dallon wanted to do was prove people wrong, to defy the labels people had put on him.

But now, as he was standing in front of the bar, stomach twisting itself in sailor knots? Dallon didn't care very much about defying labels when he looked exactly like the word Mormon.

If his bandmates could see him right now, they would barely be able to contain their giggles and zingers. Hair combed to perfection, white dress shirt and tie, black slacks and dress shoes? All he was missing was a name tag and a briefcase.

"There's no dress code online for these types of places..." Dallon muttered under his breath, half a reassurance to himself and the other half a reassurance to whoever was listening, let it be God.

No, nope, he was going in no matter what he looked like. He could only imagine the looks on the Brobecks' faces when he would tell them that he had gone to a gay bar, and met someone, and maybe even had his first real kiss.

No, that was overboard. He was only here to prove a point, nothing more.

Dallon pushed open the door, greeted with a typical bar atmosphere: music with heavy bass, the scent of alcohol, and a sea of people, creating an ocean of chatter.

The cowardly part of Dallon wanted to turn around and go home, to bundle up in the blanket his great aunt had knit him and make himself hot chocolate. Technically he had gone to a gay bar; he was inside it, standing at the door, a lost look on his face.

But the courageous part of Dallon, the part that had been chiseled away by his controlling family over the years, it was screaming in his ear to stop being such a tight ass Ned Flanders.

He had been to a bar before, against his own will. Someone in his band had booked them a line of gigs at bars, which meant as the lead singer, Dallon had to show up. No one dared come forward and reveal that they booked it though—Dallon still wasn't over the few fan incidents they had after the shows, which resulted in him coming out to a whole room full of people after a girl asked for his number.

Not his finest moment, but it wasn't like he had very many fine moments as it was.

Slowly, Dallon slipped his way through the crowd, ignoring the looks people gave him as he mumbled more 'excuse me's than he ever had in his life.

He felt extremely out of place when he finally reached the bar and sat down, the only person in the room wearing sleeves. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves and having a good time, why couldn't he?

Even as a musician the music was giving Dallon a headache, pressing his thumbs into his temples as he tried to regain his thoughts, to figure out why he even bothered getting himself into this mess in the first place. All he could hear were little snippets of conversation floating through his ears, like scattered puzzle pieces, or the clink of glasses to the bar surface, too many sounds for Dallon to keep up with.

This was stupid. He should've never come. He should have continued living his boring, sheltered life, one with it's few exciting moments that stood out like the white picket fences that lined every one of his neighbors' yards. He could marry a fine young woman and have wonderful children and live the life his mother and father had set out for him before he decided to, in their words, rebel and live alone. It would be a grand, grand, grand ol' time-

"Hey, is something wrong?"

A deep voice knocked Dallon out of his trance, brought back to where he was. Standing, at the bar, at a gay bar, dressed like a missionary.

"Huh? What- n-no, nothing's wrong." Dallon stammered, unable to make his mouth work. The deep voice had belonged to a beautiful stranger, one with tired, dark eyes that held secrets Dallon couldn't fathom and caramel streaked brown hair, swept across his face, lips pursed with curiosity.

"You've been staring at me for the past couple minutes with a blank look on your face." The stranger smiled, and now Dallon had not only forgotten how to talk, but also how to breath. He was trying not to focus on how the stranger's eyes crinkled when he smiled, the adorable dimple in his chin, the way his nose scrunched up.

No. Stop. Stop thinking about that. You're going to get in trouble.

"Oh my gosh, I-I'm so sorry, I was just spaced out-" Dallon was tripping over his words, eyes trailing down the stranger's chest, taking in his outfit.

Navy button up with roses on it, black ripped jeans and skateboarder shoes? This guy was so far out of Dallon's league they shouldn't even be sharing a conversation.

"No worries, it happens to the best of us. Is this your first time here?" The guy spoke so smoothly, voice echoing around Dallon's hopelessly lovestruck brain, staring as he leaned up against the bar.

"Um- yeah, how'd you know?" Dallon fidgeted with his hands, unsure where to put them. Clasped in front of him? No, you're not praying. Clasped behind him? No, you're not a schoolchild.

He settled on placing them flat on the counter, blushing as the man glanced at them, then back at Dallon's pink face. "The top button of your shirt is buttoned up. That, and the fact that you're adorably nervous."

Dallon's heart leaped into his throat, some weird, half giggle manifesting itself in his mouth as the stranger sat down next to him. He could only imagine what he'd say to his mom if she could see him right now.

_"Oh, no issues here mom! I'm just in a gay bar and a totally cute stranger is flirting with me, no, no issue at all."_

She'd be furious.

"You could tell?" Dallon didn't meet the man's eyes, worried that they'd see straight through him into his soul. They're shared one conversation, and Dallon was already basically picturing their wedding day.

"Just a bit. I'm Ryan," He held out his hand, laughing when Dallon eyed the blisters that lined his fingers, little yellow callouses that left Dallon confused. "I'm a medical student by day, drummer by night. Sorry, that's a bit gross, isn't it?"

Dallon shook his hand anyways, transfixed on Ryan's laugh, the way it made his heart melt into a puddle of goo. It felt like everyone else's conversations had died down and him and Ryan were the only two guys in the bar, anything unimportant lost to Dallon's mind.

 _'This is what happens when you don't do things out of your comfort zone. You fall in love with the first guy you see!'_ Dallon thought, staring slack-jawed at Ryan, still shaking his hand. No, stop that, let go of him. You're being weird.

"No, no, that's cool. I'm singer- I mean, I'm Dallon, and I'm a singer in a band." Dallon wished he had his glasses with him so that he could make out with Ryan's face better in the dim lighting of the bar instead of the fuzzy mess he was left with.

No, not make out with. Just make out. No, not like that!

"You're a singer? That's awesome! What's your band called?" Ryan said, brushing the hair out of his face, smiling widely again.

Dallon was suddenly ashamed of the band name and the odd story behind it. "Uh, The Brobecks. There's a really long story about it, we're not just weirdos."

"Well, I'd love to hear it sometime." Ryan scooted a bit closer to Dallon, making the tall man sweat. It was already hot enough in that dammed bar with his long sleeves, he didn't need this attractive stranger making him sweat in unsavory places.

No, he needed Ryan. Dallon was praying that the man wouldn't decide Dallon was too nerdy and leave, suddenly overjoyed he hadn't brought his glasses, the finishing touch to his dork costume. He felt trapped inside his shirt, beads of sweat rolling down his temple, wishing he didn't sweat so much when he got nervous.

"Can I buy you a drink? Someone as handsome as yourself shouldn't be empty handed on a night like tonight." Ryan winked, sending an angry hoard of wasps into Dallon's stomach instead of butterflies. His thick brown hair began to stick to his forehead as Dallon's mouth went dry, like he'd eaten cotton for breakfast instead of the Pop-tart he had scarfed down before practice.

"Uh, just water is fine. Oh, and- t-thank you," Dallon attempted to smile back normally, insides quivering every time he glanced into Ryan's deep set eyes, dark rings around them like a raccoon. He wasn't only musically talented, he was a medical student too?

Ryan seemed too good to be true.

"Are you sure? Tony makes wicked margaritas, or so I'm told." Ryan dug around in his back pocket for his wallet, hand accidentally brushing against Dallon's hip when he pulled it out.

"I-I don't drink, but thank you." Dallon's face only grew more crimson with every interaction they had, armpits sweating profusely. It was everything his parents had ever warned him about- and Dallon wished he didn't love it so much.

He would've never guessed in a million years that someone would take interest in him, especially another man in a gay bar he was only at because of some dare.

Well, it hadn't really been a dare, but Dallon was sick of the guys poking fun at him for being so reserved and naive to the world around him. His entire childhood every bad thing had been hidden from him: books, movies, music, the news.

All Dallon wanted to do was prove them wrong, that he could be reckless and irresponsible and adventurous. That he wasn't just a timid church boy who had never been exposed to popular culture because of "Satan" and being "brainwashed".

Thankfully, Dallon's so called recklessness was working out awfully good for him. Ryan was nice, kind, smart and had complimented him in three different sentences.

It was a friggin' home run.

Ryan passed Dallon a water, now nursing a bottle of beer himself.

"Yeah, margaritas didn't really track and I have school tomorrow." He grinned, cheeks almost glowing with the light of the bar, casting an orange haze on everything around them. "So, Dallon, how old are you?"

"22, but I'm dressed like I'm 60." Dallon didn't know where that had come from, confidence washing over him as he realized what he could tell his smirking bandmates tomorrow afternoon; how he actually played their stupid little game and how good it made him feel inside to finally do something new.

"I think it's cute. Like a young businessman." Ryan took a sip of beer, words rendering Dallon even more speechless and sweaty. "I just turned legal age, so I'm celebrating every chance I get."

"W-where do you go to school?" Dallon felt like every older relative ever, asking him questions about school.

"University of Utah. 'm trying to get a nursing degree, and I help at the hospital between classes. Not to brag, but I never get sick."

He was going to be a nurse? That was so much more than what Dallon wanted to be, which he didn't really know yet.

Dallon loved that Ryan already knew what he wanted to be, something so considerate and kindhearted. Meanwhile, Dallon scraped together just enough money to pay for rent, and had dinner with his parents every week for the free meal more than anything.

"What's a well-dressed singer like yourself doing at a gay bar at 10?" Ryan was much more chatty than Dallon, which the taller man was eternally grateful for. He never had been much of a chatter, but talking to Ryan felt so easy, unless he was flustered. In that case, Dallon was red-faced mess. Too bad he was flustered most of the time.

"I'm... trying something new. My friends told me I should come here, and... I'm really glad I did." Dallon felt dumb being so sappy to a guy he just met, but the warm look on Ryan's face made all his self deprecating thoughts fly out the window, along with his ability to string together words.

"You're too cute Dallon. Most guys just talk about wanting to hook up, but here you are, dressed to the nines, a sweet talker. I never would've guessed."

Dallon didn't know if it was his mind playing tricks on him or that Ryan had moved closer, shoulders rubbing against each other, making Dallon tremble.

Oh. _Cute_.

One of his darkest secrets was the fact that not only was he a virgin, but he had never had a real first kiss. He couldn't even imagine kissing someone he had just met who was basically a stranger, especially someone as handsome and quick-witted as Ryan.

But apparently, it was happening. Ryan was leaning in, and before he knew it, Dallon was leaning in too, lips meeting.

Ryan cupped Dallon's jaw with his rough hand, softly lapping at Dallon's lips as Dallon froze up, liquid fire dripping down the back of his throat, heat settling in his gut. Every muscle in his body went tense, unsure if he was supposed to kiss Ryan back, brain still processing what was happening.

He kissed someone. Not just someone, a stranger, an attractive one too.

Ryan pulled away still holding onto Dallon's cheek, a perplexed look on his face, eyebrows drawn tightly together.

"W-what's wrong?" Panic flooded through Dallon, worries that Ryan had decided that he wasn't worth it surfacing in his mind.

"I think we're gonna have to work on your kissing next time I see you," Ryan smiled coyly, orange glow making him look like an angel; an apparition.

"Next time?" Dallon's heart pattered with excitement, looking down as Ryan loosened his tie and unbuttoned one of his buttons, ruffling his collar.

"Mhm, I'm free to teach you how to kiss whenever." There was mischief sparkling in Ryan's dark eyes, his own shirt collar just as disheveled as Dallon's. "Except during the day and some nights, but other than that, I have nowhere to be."

Dallon laughed, light headed and relieved, screaming internally. Ryan the beautiful and smart stranger wanted to see him again.

"A-Are you leaving now?" Dallon said when the drummer stood up suddenly, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Yup, I got class tomorrow morning, 9 AM. Call me if you need fashion advice or if you want to learn what comes after kissing." Ryan winked again, sliding a crumpled piece of paper into Dallon's open hand.

Something shiny on Ryan's hand caught Dallon's eye, reflecting the orange lights above them.

Oh gosh, had Dallon just kissed a married guy? And how was he married that young? And what was a married guy doing at a bar on a Thursday night?

Dallon calmed himself as he watched Ryan walk away, giving him a short wave before he disappeared into the sea of people, the sparkling thing on the inside of his thumb gleaming in the bar lights.

Maybe it was a piece of glitter, or a stray piece of tinfoil, or something entirely different. Dallon couldn't stay worried for long- he had gotten someone's number, someone smart and pretty and smooth.

He couldn't wait to rub it in his bandmates' faces at practice.  
  
  
  
  
  


"-and then, he kissed me. A stranger! And I got his number too, look-" Dallon pulled the crinkled piece of paper out of his pocket, Ryan's messy handwriting smudged by how many times Dallon ran his fingers over it the previous night.

He left the bar soon after Ryan disappeared, not seeing the need to stay. Dallon had gotten everything he wanted, and maybe more.

The walk home was a long one, skipping every two steps up to his apartment, hand shooting to his lips. The ghost of Ryan's mouth still lingered, making Dallon blush all over again, heart singing in excitement and euphoria. As Dallon unlocked his apartment door, the heat of the bar cane rushing back to him, new patches of sweat laying over his past ones as he twirled his keys in his hand.

His apartment was nothing to be proud of—especially something he wouldn't want to show Ryan. Dallon had a microwave on his nightstand, a desk with a mini fridge under it, and clothes hanging from every handle in the room. It resembled a student's dorm room, except Ryan probably had a massive dorm, with air conditioning that actually worked. Holes in the wall caught spider webs, there when Dallon bought the place, the only apartment he could afford when he left his parents' place. He was so impatient to get out of there that he took the first place he found in his price range, which ended up being about as big as his mother's closet.

Dallon threw his phone on his bed, kicking off his cramped shoes and tumbling onto the mattress, head swirling with thoughts.

He had disregarded everything his parents ever taught him about stranger danger—so what if Ryan was a murderer? Dallon would let anyone with those eyes murder him at point blank range.

Gosh, his eyes. Dallon swooned again, holding his hands to his heart, turning over to face the paint peeling on his wall. Those eyes stared straight into Dallon's soul, so dark and mysterious, yet so boyishly tired, Dallon had never seen anyone like that before.

He loved how reckless Ryan made him feel, like a bird that had finally hatched from its sheltered egg. Dallon didn't even feel like himself—he felt like a total stranger, unsure how he ever convinced himself to go to the bar, how he even convinced Ryan to kiss him in the first place.

Dallon dug around in his pocket for the paper, inspecting Ryan's scribbled numbers, heart palpitating heavily in his chest. Ryan was everything Dallon wished he was—smart, funny, daring. Maybe he could help Dallon out of his shell, could help him escape from his church-boy life and actually experience things firsthand.

Hands trembling, Dallon reached down his comforter for his phone, typing the numbers into his contacts. Would it be too eager to text Ryan so soon?

No, Dallon had to do things that worried him. He knew that if he didn't text Ryan now, he never would out of cowardliness.

Dallon contemplated what he should say, quietly smiling to himself at the thought of meeting Ryan again, and maybe even kissing him. He felt gross for how much he thought about Ryan's tongue on his, how soft his lips were, how good his hand felt on Dallon's jaw. Was this what normal people thought about?

It wasn't like Dallon had ever really been in love before. Well—he never had the chance to. His parents wanted him to follow in his brother's footsteps and to become a doctor, something good that Jesus would approve of, not the singer of a underground band. But even after he had left the nest, Dallon still wasn't truly free of his parents' reign, too afraid to do anything out of his comfort zone.

Which included letting himself fall in love.

But now he was infatuated with the first guy that kissed him, the exhausted drummer who went to nursing school and knew how to kiss people.

Dallon didn't even want to think about the other things Ryan knew; the other things he could teach him. It made Dallon feel too rebellious, something he wasn't ready for yet. Baby steps.

Even though it took him a few tries, Dallon finally typed the perfect paragraph: not too needy, but not to cold. Or so he hoped. It wasn't like Dallon had much experience texting cute guys.

_'Hey, this is Dallon from earlier tonight? I just wanted to say, I'd really like to see you again sometime.'_

He threw his phone on his bed as soon as his thumb hit send, stomach quivering with anxiety and excitement. Dallon was fighting the urge to pick it up and obsessively refresh the page, wondering how long it normally took people to text back.

Relax. Ryan's a busy guy, and he probably won't respond for a few hours, or maybe even days.

Dallon didn't know if he could wait for days. The thrill of his night was beginning to wear off, replaced with gut-wrenching unease and fear about what would become of him.

Was he really ready for a real relationship? Even thinking about it brought butterflies to his stomach, but Dallon couldn't tell if they were cheerful butterflies, or a warning to the consequences of dating a guy.

Not even Ryan's blatant charm could work on his parents.

His phone buzzed under his hand, making Dallon jolt up, the frenzy of emotions returning to his chest like a tidal wave.

_'dallon!!! im so glad you texted, id love to meet up soon but my schedule is pretty full for the next week :( let me see if i can swap shifts and ill get back to you!!'_

I'm so glad you texted.

I'd love to meet up soon.

:(

It was so adorable Dallon could look past the lack of grammar- maybe that was how cool people texted. The only people in Dallon's inbox was his mom, a groupchat with the band and an UberEats message he'd forgotten to delete.

He didn't even care that Ryan's schedule was full; the prospect of ever meeting again was enough to make Dallon giddy, thumbs tripping over each other as he frantically typed his next message, readjusting his glasses with the back of his hand.

_'It's no rush, but I'd like you to teach me how to kiss better.'_

Dallon's thumb hovered over the send button for a few moments before deciding against it and deleting the text, tossing his phone onto his nightstand. If he came on so strong he might scare Ryan away, and that was the last thing he wanted right now. Dallon was still riding off the rush of thrill he'd gotten after kissing Ryan, nerves buzzing with the type of excitement that only children felt in bed on Christmas Eve, or nights before field trips. He was going to chase that feeling to the end of the earth, even if it meant holding back a few cringe worthy texts.

It was ages before Dallon finally calmed down enough to fall asleep, smiling into his pillow and listening to the couple fighting outside his apartment door, lulled into slumber by the whack of a purse and the click of high heels walking away.

He'd never understood why they fought so much, like they were Dallon's personal soap opera, yelling and screeching about kissing sisters and cheating boyfriends.

But if it was about love, then Dallon could understand that a bit now.

He'd do the same thing for Ryan, and he barely knew the guy.

Now, Dallon was sitting on Matt's couch, explaining his past night to them in vivid detail, eating up their raised eyebrows and impressed looks.

"It's kinda weird he left so quickly though... do you have your wallet?" Matt asked, sending a flurry of worries through Dallon's head. He patted his pockets for his wallet, body going cold when he couldn't feel the rectangular outline.

It wasn't there. Matt wasn't wrong; Dallon had been pondering why Ryan left in such a hurry after kissing him. Had Ryan pick-pocketed him?

"Give him his wallet back, you asshole." Michael hollered from across the room, and Dallon's thin wallet magically reappeared in Matt's hand. With a sour expression, Dallon yanked his wallet back and put it in his other pocket where Matt couldn't reach it.

"You're a dick, but... I did have a good time last night." Dallon confessed with a bashful half-smile, ducking his head down and staring at his yellow shoelaces. It wasn't often that he admitted to one of these guys that they were right—their relationships were built off of empty insults and teases—but he was grateful of Mike's dare.

"See, what'd we tell you?" Matt elbowed him playfully, but Dallon only cringed at the feeling and reciprocated his cheeky grin, his cheeks beginning to burn in embarrassment. "You should try new things more often."

"I... I really enjoyed it..." Dallon scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shameful of being so sappy once again. He quickly changed his attitude before one of them made a wisecrack. "Besides, none of you have the balls to even look at a gay bar."

"Yeah, but we have the balls to do other stuff that you can't." Bryan returned from inside Matt's house, three coffee mugs in his arms, brown water splashing threateningly close to the edge as he stepped down the stairs one at a time. Dallon didn't drink coffee—Dallon didn't drink at all, except for hot chocolate, water, and Dr. Pepper.

Dr. Pepper or _nothing._

"Alright, well..." Dallon chewed on his lip, contemplating how to get back at them. "Fine then, make me a list of things to try and I'll do them all."

He didn't know where his sudden eagerness had come from, surprised by his own words. Yeah, these guys were his best friends, but they could be a little ruthless too- Dallon didn't know what type of stuff they'd put on that list.

But Dallon was supposed to be afraid of new things; that's what made them so enticing. Look at last night, he'd been afraid to go in that bar and he ended up kissing a handsome stranger.

The smirks on their faces made Dallon regret saying that though, fear filling his gut, sweat making a reappearance after last night's catastrophe.

"Great idea Dallon, I'll grab a piece of paper and we can get started." The diabolical tone of Matt's voice made Dallon shiver, smug grin only growing, disappearing into his house and returning with a notebook and a pen.

Dallon had given up on thinking that they'd actually get around to practicing today and accepted the hole he'd dug himself into, head hanging low as he prayed that they'd go easy on him.

Matt handed the pen and paper to Bryan, stroking his chin like an evil genius, the ringleader of this operation.

"First things first, Dallon's gotta get drunk at least once." Matt said matter-of-factly, watching as Bryan scribbled down the first item on the list.

**1\. Get drunk**

That was innocent enough. Dallon had been wondering what it'd feel like for a while, and now he had an excuse to get drunk instead of his own fears stopping him. Maybe he'd get lucky and alcohol wouldn't work on him. 

"Dallon drives super slow, doesn't he?" Bryan asked, scratching down a second point on the list.

**2\. Get a speeding ticket**

That one made Dallon sweat a bit more, worried about what would happen if he tainted his perfect record. It might only be a speeding ticket—but what if he crashed? What if he hurt someone else?

Dallon didn't own a car, but whenever they had to drive somewhere, the rest of the band loved to make him drive. Maybe they felt safer when Dallon was driving, because of his attention to every little rule of the road, silently staring at the road as they laughed and sang along to music Dallon had never heard of before. He didn't mind driving—but he wasn't the most comfortable with speeding.

"Next item... any ideas?" Matt asked, looking up from the pad of paper, full of Bryan's perfect handwriting.

"Oh oh oh, put swear." Micheal snickered from across the room, plucking his guitar strings while tuning, off-key twangs reverberating through the garage.

"Hey, fuck you." Dallon grinned triumphantly, relieved that he could prove them wrong this time.

The trio were silent for a few seconds before Matt piped up, "Put use the lord's name in vain, Dallon won't do that."

They all stared at the flustered bassist expectantly, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to disprove their theory. Dallon opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it, his mother's irritating voice in his ear warning him what happened to people who used the lord's name, rendering him silent.

**3. ~~Swear~~ use the lord's name in vain.**

They all smirked as Bryan scribbled out 'swear' and put 'use the lord's name in vain', moving onto the next item of the list.

**4\. Kiss someone who isn't your boyfriend.**

Dallon raised his hands defensively, face blooming pink. "Hey, he's not my boyfriend, we just met."

"Dallon, you kissed, and you texted him to meet up again, you're practically married now." Matt deadpanned, nodding to Bryan to finish writing the sentence, blue pen scratching against the yellow pad of paper.

Dallon's skin only grew two shades redder, unsure how to respond to something like that.

He'd love Ryan to be his boyfriend, but that was moving too fast. They'd just met—Dallon couldn't seriously be considering a full on relationship, especially with another guy.

The thought was enough to make him queasy. The thing was, Dallon didn't know if he was queasy from nervousness, or queasy because it wasn't meant to happen.

"I'm sorry Dally, but I gotta put this down." Bryan chewed on the end of the pen, quickly writing the fifth item, the one that made Dallon's stomach drop.

**5\. Tell your parents you're gay.**

"No no no! I can't do that!" Dallon cried, starting to sweat at just the thought of it. He loved his family, and he didn't want to disappoint them even more than he already had.

"They're gonna figure it out someday Dallon, you might as well be in control of how they find out." Matt shuffled over to his drum-set, satisfied with how Dallon's list of risks turned out. The sight of the drums reminded Dallon of Ryan, wondering if he should invite him to a band practice sometime. No, that would only fuel his bandmates' teasing, and he couldn't put Ryan through that.

The tall singer sighed as Matt's words set in, slinging his bass strap over his shoulder and standing up, making his way over to the microphone.

Everything was moving much too fast for Dallon's slow lifestyle. Yesterday, he'd be terrified at the prospect of kissing someone else, especially someone as smooth as Ryan, and now he had to try more things that scared him, even coming out to his parents.

Dallon didn't even care that he left kind of quickly after meeting- their text messages had left much to be desired, and in the end, Dallon ended up with a list of daunting tasks to confront.

Maybe it would be good, to be more adventurous and to prove everyone wrong.

Dallon's life could use a little excitement, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. a fic where ryan doesn't have blue hair.
> 
> okokok im so excited for this fic, and not just because it's gonna be my first longfic
> 
> this fic is definitely gonna be more lighthearted than my other ones, and it's gonna have so many more characters!! dont worry, awsten and remington are gonna be introduced next chapter :)
> 
> let me know what you thought!!! this is also my first time writing for the brobecks so i hope i did a good job djfgh
> 
> expect next chapter sometime next week i hope?? i've been sitting on this chapter for MONTHS now, ever since the first demon dallon fic ashdjsd so im so happy i finally get to post it :)
> 
> ty for reading!! <3


	2. the jester, the punk, the dork and the drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw this chapter for hospitals, injury and dangerous amounts of awkwardness
> 
> enjoy!! <3

"You nervous?"

Dallon gulped down the last drops of his drink and nodded to Mike, coughing at the way it burnt his throat. He didn't even know what he was drinking—good thing he trusted Matt enough to (hopefully) not poison him.

It had been a few days since creating the list, and now, at their first gig in a while, Dallon was trying to get drunk.

Ryan had texted him that night as Dallon laid in bed, the unexpected buzz of his phone making Dallon giddy all over again.

(801) 196-7794: my schedule is pretty full but we can talk here :)))

It made Dallon swoon, disgusted by the way he giggled and swung his legs over the side of his bed, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It was the blanket his great aunt had knit him years ago, before she fell sick, where even the prayers of his entire family couldn't save her. The blanket made Dallon feel like she was hugging him once again, before the meat was stripped off her bones and her hugs turned into tiny waves from where she was bedridden.

Dallon was ashamed for how late he stayed up that night, texting Ryan back and forth, so encompassed by how charming he was.

It made Dallon tremble excitedly, thumbs flying across the screen as he doubted every response he sent, screen going blurry in the early hours of the morning when his eyes began to burn.

He learned that Ryan's parents died when he was younger, that he shared an apartment with his best friend, Awsten, who was also going to nursing school, and that Ryan knew how to play the bass too, which only made Dallon even more woozy. Good thing he was sitting on his bed, back pressed up against the wall—Dallon's knees would have given out beneath him, legs collapsing just as his heart did, melting into a lovestruck puddle.

Since then, Dallon had spent every night giggling and texting Ryan like a little girl, staying awake until his eyes started to bleed and the rich gold of the sun overtook his small room. By the time Dallon finally sunk into his pillow, wearing a restless grin, the couple outside his room had given up on their screaming and commenced their daily make-out session.

The thought of Ryan kissing him again was enough to ignite the blazing butterflies in his abdomen, covering his red face with his sheets and turning over in bed.

Gosh, Dallon wanted to see him again. Dallon really wanted to see him again, but he understood that Ryan was busy. Just the fact that he went to nursing school and worked at the hospital was enough to please the remnants of his parents teachings that still lived in Dallon, the good church boy he'd been growing up.

At least, in the shadow of his brother.

Perfect Jordan. Ugh, Dallon hated Jordan, hated his perfectly white smile and the perfect white of his doctor's coat.

The way he always towered over Dallon, let it be in perfect marks, or even his actual height. Dallon would never catch up to the level of goody-two-shoes his older brother was, just as he would never catch up with how tall he was.

He hated how jealous it made him, wishing he could act out and steal some of his parents attention for himself.

But Dallon was too timid for that, until now, texting a cute guy until the early hours of the morning.

And now- drunk. Apparently. Dallon couldn't feel the so-called 'buzz' just yet, bouncing on his toes and shaking his fingers, preparing to play.

Normally, Dallon didn't get that nervous before a show. Performing was the one time where Dallon could let go of all standards and let himself be pulled away by his own melody, unashamed of his dorky dance moves. When he was onstage, nobody could touch him, not even the snickers of his bandmates.

Dallon was untouchable—he was safe.

He exhaled and let his fingers run over his thick bass strings, instincts kicking in.

One, two, three. Uh oh.

Instincts weren't the only thing that were kicking in.

Dallon shuffled onstage, taking in the small crowd, other adults who were experiencing the same dizziness as he was.

Right? Did people get dizzy while drunk, or had Matt actually poisoned him?

The microphone hissed with feedback when Dallon leaned in, clearing his throat and trying to clear the fuzz in his mind, remembering their set list.

Ease up. He's got this, even if Matt was coming for his money. Dallon had a song about that, and the joke was on Matt—Dallon had nothing in his will except his dignity.

As Dallon started to sing and play, he fell into a groove, world becoming so easy around him. The words had never fallen out of his mouth so smoothly, gliding past his lips like whatever liquor he'd drank, snapping his fingers out of time with the music.

And nobody even batted an eye at his embarrassing moves, knees buckling beneath him as the small venue swirled around him, ignoring the nausea in his stomach. Dallon couldn't stop smiling at nothing in particular, swept away by his own music, surprised at how good he sounded.

Did Dallon always sing this well, or was something helping him?

As he finished a song, Dallon leaned on the mic stand for support, hiccups echoing through the room. Someone else was breathing heavily into the microphone; Dallon didn't usually breathe like that. Well, Dallon usually didn't feel this light anyways, like the world had slowed around him, walls dripping with fuzzy patterns.

"This next song-" Dallon slurred, cringing at the screech of the microphone. "This next song- this next song-"

He continued to repeat it, gazing off into the distance, trying to remember which song he was supposed to sing. The rest of the band was no help—all they could do was stare at him expectantly, hands hesitating over their instruments, waiting for Dallon to give them a cue, anything.

They'd frequented this venue often, a smaller place that Dallon found comfortable enough. Nobody he knew ever came there, which was a relief, especially now.

Because Dallon was going to stage-dive.

He didn't know why. He didn't know how the idea even popped up in his head, but Dallon was dead-set on crowd surfing, even though the crowd was sparse and small.

Not even the familiar posters on the wall were a comfort to Dallon's uneasy stomach, eyeing the crowd that seemed to span on forever, way past the doors of the venue. Everything was hot and sticky, like he was trapped in his own hoodie, hair damp and clinging to his forehead.

With a deep breath in, Dallon leapt off the stage, everything going slow as he fell through the air. As the ground came closer, Dallon's mind did a full 180 and realized that nobody was going to catch him—that he'd never done a stage-dive before, that he was 6'3, and that he was still wearing his bass.

And that the ground was awfully close.

As soon as he collided with the sticky venue floor, Dallon's ankle swam with pain, just as his head swam with the type of pictures he saw when he rubbed his eyes too hard. He could hear Mike's worried voice, the clatter of instruments being set down in a rush and the chatter of the crowd, most likely wondering what had gotten into Dallon.

His poor bass was under him, strings snapped, one edge digging into his stomach as he laid there and groaned. The ache in his ankle only worsened as the world went foggy around him, aware that someone was helping him stand, and that laughter rippled through the room, and that, man, his ankle was killing him.

And then, blackness.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"Ugh..."

The first thing Dallon did as he woke up was groan, the events of last night blurry in his mind, like they'd be a wild dream he'd had.

Drunk. Dallon had gotten drunk. Dallon had stage-dove.

And somehow, Dallon wasn't dead. Although, he felt pretty dead—did heaven look like a hospital room? Had his parents been wrong, and the golden gates to heaven were actually a tacky blue curtain surrounding his hospital bed?

Back up—why was Dallon in the hospital? Had Matt actually poisoned his drink?

Dallon flinched when the curtains were yanked back, a long gasp emerging from the neon-haired nurse, lime-green dye giving Dallon a headache on top of the one he already had. The way his body jolted only worsened the dull pain in his ankle, suddenly aware that it was set in a cast, and that an I.V. was hooked up to him, thin cord swaying as Dallon shifted uncomfortably.

"You're awake!" The male nurse squealed, thick eyebrows raised in surprise. Something about his eyes reminded Dallon of a cat, one green, one blue, both watching Dallon struggled to figure out what he was doing here.

If Dallon was going to figure this out, he had to phrase this next question delicately, so the nurse wouldn't think he was an idiot. If he knew anything about what had happened last night, Dallon's reputation was already tainted- the idiot who jumped off a stage while drunk.

Dallon rubbed his eyes, wishing he had his glasses with him so he could take in more of the hospital room, rather than the blurry mess he was given.

"Wh-Wha?"

Perfect.

"Oh man, you're probably wondering what happened," The nurse sat at the end of Dallon's hospital bed, unfazed by the monitors Dallon was hooked up to, beeping away with information the bleary singer couldn't decipher. He was suddenly aware of something clamped around his finger, more wires swinging with every small movement, neck aching from trying to hold his head up.

"After your incident last night, one of your friends brought you to the hospital." The nurse explained, kicking his feet up as Dallon stared in confusion, still trying to piece together what had happened after he fell.

"You twisted your ankle trying to land properly, and right now we're monitoring you for concussion symptoms. But hey, you're alive!" The nurse gave Dallon jazz hands, open-mouthed smile dying down when all Dallon did was gawk. "Man, maybe you do have a concussion, I usually get a reaction out of that."

Dallon let his head fall to the pillow and sighed, wriggling his toes around in the cast, wincing at the way it made his entire foot cry with pain.

He'd come to the conclusion that Mike has probably brought him to the hospital. They had been best friends since way before Dallon started the band, and while he was close with Matt and Bryan, him and Michael had always been the closest. Dallon wished he was here right now though.

"Where did my friend go...?" Dallon asked the nurse, watching as adjusted Dallon's IV bag, clear liquid dripping down into his arm. "And what is that for?"

"Your friend said he had to go home, and this is for your alcohol poisoning. Watch, if I squeeze the bag, you're going to feel really good really fast-"

"Awsten, what were you told about getting patients high on saline?" A familiar deep voice rang out, accompanied by a dimple-ridden smile.

Ryan.

Dallon really was an idiot- how could he forget that Ryan worked at the hospital?

"You know, if you really wanted to see me again, you should've just called." Ryan was grinning smugly, shutting the curtain behind himself as he sat where the other nurse just had on the bed, smoothing down the wrinkled baby-blue sheets. It sent a nervous chill through Dallon's body, unable to respond, face burning bright red.

This wasn't how he wanted Ryan to see him, laying in a hospital bed because of a mistake he'd made while drunk. Dallon had imagined a nice restaurant, or maybe a concert, or whatever first dates were considered normal these days. Not _this_.

The heart monitor started to beep louder as Dallon's heartbeat grew faster, suddenly panicked that Ryan could very much see the effect he had on him. But the two nurses barely batted an eye, the green-haired one reaching over to silence it as they waited for whatever witty answer Dallon could come up with.

"Uhhh..." It was the only thing Dallon could get out, mesmerized by the way Ryan's hair was pinned out of his face with a little clip, a tiny charm of an orange stuck on the end. He shivered under Ryan's gaze, dark eyes piercing his own, the purple rings around them only deeper than before.

Somehow, he looked better than ever. It made Dallon wheeze, shrinking away under the covers of the hospital bed, feeling weirdly naked in the hospital gown he was wearing.

"How are you feeling?" Ryan asked, standing up and checking his watch, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. "Actually, hold that thought, I gotta go check in with a doctor. Awsten will take care of you though, he's only an asshole half the time."

Ryan disappeared behind the curtains with a smirk, rendering the other nurse, Awsten, speechless.

"I'm only an asshole to him, don't worry. And yeah, how are you feeling?" Awsten asked, cocking his head sideways, some of his bright hair falling into his eyes. He had some scruff on his chin, the opposite of his boyish voice.

Dallon shrugged, unable to pinpoint any emotions he had other than confusion. It was bad enough that he'd landed in the hospital because of something stupid, but Ryan was here too?

Instead of feeling triumphant, as he should, Dallon felt stupid. Maybe the list wasn't the best idea- maybe the reason Dallon didn't step out of his comfort zone was because he got hurt when he did.

At least he got to see Ryan again.

"...I don't know, my leg kinda hurts." Dallon finally answered, moving it under the blankets, making the sheets ruffle as he let it fall limp.

Awsten clicked his tongue, shaking his head disapprovingly, just as Dallon's parents used to. Sometimes they still shook their heads like that, uttering Dallon's name in an exasperated tone. "Sorry dude, you got the lamest injury ever."

"What about tailbone stuff?" Ryan walked through the door again, returning from tending to someone else, peeling off his blue gloves and dropping them in the yellow container. The sight of him made Dallon's heart patter, stuffed into baby blue scrubs, nurse shoes radiantly white in the bright light of the room.

"Tailbone injuries are funny, sprained ankle is just sad." Awsten quickly turned to Dallon, neon hair following. Dallon didn't know how he was allowed to be a nurse and to have hair that flashy. "No offence. What you did was pretty funny, but next time, try to land on your ass."

Next time? Dallon never wanted to show his face around there again- he was glad he didn't know where his phone had ended up. It was probably full of photos and videos, and dear lord please no, text messages from his parents.

Nobody better have told his parents.

"Maybe we should turn off Dallon's heart monitor, it goes crazy every time you walk in the room." Awsten giggled to Ryan, which only made Dallon more flustered, eyes darting to the machine.

The little green line climbed higher with every passing second, as did the number next to it, zigging and zagging as Dallon tried to calm himself and descend the neon green mountain.

"W-When can I leave?" Dallon stuttered, realizing that Ryan must have told his coworker about him, and all those sleepless nights they shared.

Ugh, why did that sound so sexual? With all the technology they had these days, Ryan might as well be able to read Dallon's mind. At least he wasn't taken back by it, wearing a wide smile, cheeks dusted a lighter version of the crimson Dallon's face was.

"It shouldn't be much longer, we just have to monitor you for concussion symptoms for a couple more hours and then you're free to go." Even though Ryan looked flustered, he still spoke smoothly, warm voice echoing throughout Dallon's brain even after he'd spoken the words.

Ryan and Awsten were called out of the room, leaving Dallon alone to pull back the blanket and inspect the IV in the crevice of his arm. The needle was taped to his skin, some of his arm hairs underneath the medical tape, afraid of moving his arm too much.

He mustn't be alone in the hospital room, but Dallon's view of whoever else was in there was obstructed by the curtain, low conversation coming from the crack under the tacky blue.

With a sigh, Dallon let himself relax into the pillow of the hospital bed, closing his weary eyes and letting the thoughts pass through his head easily.

Ryan was here. Ryan, the beautiful, tired, not-so-stranger who was seemingly amazing at everything. Dallon wished his fate hadn't been so cruel, and that they could've bumped into each other at a more cheerful place, like the mall or another bar.

No, Dallon didn't think he'd ever be able to step foot in a bar again. Getting drunk was a mistake Dallon wished he'd never let himself make; what if someone else had gotten hurt? What if this list was _too_ reckless, in the bad way that got people's deaths into newspaper headlines?

What if that's what Ryan expected in Dallon from now on, a rowdy musician who pulled stupid stunts while drunk? While Dallon hadn't liked his situation before the list, he didn't like this one at all, ashamed of what he'd done and where he'd ended up.

Maybe it was about finding the balance between it all. If Dallon's life was a scale, one end would have the way he had been raised, and the other would have this entirely new lifestyle he couldn't handle. Ryan fell right in the middle, someone who was smart, cute, and adventurous while still being safe.

That was what Dallon needed, but he didn't know how to communicate that to Ryan, especially in a hospital room. He didn't even know if Ryan was looking for a relationship, or just looking to hook up.

Dallon would have to debunk that second fact quickly if it was true. Of course, Ryan was an attractive adult, but Dallon sure as heck wasn't ready for that, especially someone who was as experienced as Ryan was in the gay dating world.

He laid there and let his mind wander into the gutter, watching the heart monitor rise and rise with each thought of Ryan kissing him, ducking lower until he was mouthing at Dallon's neck. Oh, how he'd love for Ryan to kiss his neck, leaving a path of red down the columns of his throat. But Dallon didn't have any experience covering up hickies—heck, he didn't have experience kissing. Or anything of that sort.

After a while of fantasizing about _only_ kissing—nothing more, Dallon wouldn't let himself do that, as much as he wanted to—Ryan returned to take his vitals, looking as heavenly as ever. There was something about the hospital lighting that made his dimples glow, little tangerine clip shining in his dark waves of hair, raven eyes full of nothing but an electric amusement. It was so different seeing him in this environment, the opposite of the loud bar, everything sterile and light instead of dirty and dark.

There had to be a metaphor in there somewhere.

"How are you feeling?" Ryan asked, leaning in to push Dallon's hair out of his eyes. The gesture made Dallon breathless, rough fingertips brushing against Dallon's damp forehead, hair sticking to his sweaty brow.

Ryan's touch lingered on Dallon's face even after he pulled away his hand, eyes crinkling as a smile spread on his lips.

The bible had never described angels as tired medical students, but here Ryan was, a seraph sent from the skies above to ruin Dallon's life in the best way possible.

"I-I..." Dallon couldn't get the words out, watching as Ryan wrapped the velcro cuff around his arm, growing as tight as his chest had. He'd never liked having his blood pressure taken, especially when he could feel his own pulse in his arm, and the cuff would his squeeze his bicep tighter than his aunt did when admiring how big he'd grown.

"Your vitals are pretty steady," Ryan unstrapped the cuff, glancing to Dallon's heart monitor. He might've said pretty steady, but Dallon only heard the word pretty, mind blocking out all the unimportant stuff. "I think you should be able to go home soon, unless..."

Their eyes met as Ryan trailed off, making Dallon's heart leap into his throat, so suddenly excited in whatever Ryan had to say next he could barely lay in the bed. That was the way Ryan talked— beyond captivating, catching Dallon's attention and holding onto it until the very last second, when his next words would fall past his lips.

"Do you wanna come over to my place? My shift's about to end, and I can make you lunch, since you said you didn't have much at your apartment..." Ryan smiled, leaning on the end of the hospital bed and drumming his fingers against it.

Dallon was awestruck by his words, mouth agape. He could only nod, shutting his mouth quickly when he realized his jaw was hanging open.

Ryan. His house. Lunch.

Ryan was too kind for Dallon's poor mind to process. And hot. And beautiful. And gay. The perfect recipe to make Dallon's brain short circuit, watching wide-eyed as Ryan took out the IV. A few stray hairs fell into his face as he bent down and untaped the needle, rubbing circles into the red skin where the tape had pulled his arm hair out. They were close enough that Dallon could smell his shampoo— he knew he shouldn't be smelling Ryan, but he couldn't help it.

He smelled like chocolate oranges and whatever children's dreams were made of. A smell that imprinted itself in Dallon's mind, lingering even after Ryan was halfway across the room.

"Oh, here's your glasses," Ryan handed him them, but one of the lens were cracked right through the middle, and a bandage was wrapped around one of the black temples. "Uh... they're a little broken."

"Thanks." Dallon took them and put them on, self conscious of how dorky he looked in his glasses. This was the first time Ryan was seeing him in sunlight with his glasses on, and Dallon was worried he'd change his mind about kissing a nerd in a hospital gown. But Ryan only dropped his clothes from last night on the bed and smiled, closing the curtain behind him to give Dallon privacy to change.

Dallon's face burned with embarrassment as he changed, ignoring the way he felt like he was being watched from every angle. Who could say what cameras were lingering in that hospital room? And Dallon wasn't exactly the most confident in his body, his weird arms and knobby legs that were too long for his body, or the lack of hair on his chest. He found his phone in the pocket of his jeans, thankfully not cracked, but dead. Maybe that was for the better—Dallon didn't think he could handle talking to his parents right now.

Ryan appeared minutes later wearing his own clothes and a lanyard, hair fallen back into his eyes. He was even more adorable in daylight, palm trees dotting his shirt, a leather jacket on his shoulders, knees peeking out from his ripped jeans.

Everything Dallon's parents had warned him about. And Dallon couldn't help but look down at his own outfit, the dorky shoes he had thought were cool months ago, the sweater he'd stolen from Jordan and the 90s jeans that bunched up around his ankles.

They couldn't be on further ends of the spectrum—hot drummer med student and dorky church boy who's still scared of his parents.

"You look better than you did last night." Ryan quipped, handing Dallon his new crutches. It wasn't Dallon's first time in crutches—softball incident—but they took some getting used to, tripping after Ryan as they left the hospital room.

Uh oh. What happened last night while Dallon was half conscious? Did he do something embarrassing enough to warrant a comment from Ryan, something he'd forgotten entirely?

It was hard enough facing someone so utterly out of his league in daylight. But the fact that Dallon had debased himself while drunk in front of Ryan—something he couldn't recall—was even more mortifying.

Ryan lead him to the elevator, mindful of Dallon's crutches as the doors closed, leaving the two of them alone.

"I-I'm sorry for whatever I did. Last night, I mean." Dallon stumbled through his sentence, dragging his injured foot along as they left the elevator, hair sticking to his ceiling as he began to sweat again. Fuck, there was something about Ryan that made Dallon glow like a pig, so utterly nervous he couldn't speak properly.

"Oh, don't be. It was actually adorable, y'know, you have a really nice singing voice." Ryan held the door open for him, wearing an amused grin as Dallon's face split into a look of pure confusion.

Oh fuck. Singing voice?

"Wait- What?" Dallon's crutches clacked against the pavement in the parking lot, following Ryan to his car like a lost puppy. His body went cold at Ryan's words, all the air leaving his lungs as Ryan helped him into the passenger seat of the car.

A keychain hung from the mirror of the car, a little Garfield holding a lasagna up with a cheeky grin. Beside the Garfield keychain were two neon green dice, the same blinding shade of lime as Awsten's hair had been. And the final keychain was of Ariel from The Little Mermaid, red hair shining in the overcast sky outside.

In the cup holder was a half-empty travel mug of coffee, the remains of a pink smoothie in an McDonalds cup, and a bundle of crumpled receipts, scuffling against each other as Ryan fumbled for his seatbelt.

Dallon had never been in a car so... eccentric. The more he inspected the car, the more weird things he discovered, like the butterfly stickers on the passenger window and the hollow chap-sticks rattling around his feet. If there was any free space in his head, Dallon might question the decorations, but he was too distressed about whatever he'd sung to Ryan last night.

Some Brobecks song? A jingle from an ad? A dirty variation of a children's rhyme Dallon had heard years ago at school?

Dallon would never forget hearing what happened to old Mrs. Hubbard and her empty cupboard when she was looking for a bone. It made his face flush even remembering how that rhyme ended, screaming internally that he didn't sing a song about bestiality to the only man he'd ever had a crush on.

"You don't remember?" Ryan asked as the ignition turned over, car grumbling around them. It might just be because Dallon was a giant, but Ryan looked so small behind the wheel, like an adorable puppy trying to drive.

Dallon shook his head, crutches clacking against each other as he shifted nervously in his seat and kicked up empty plastic bottles with his healthy foot. The air freshener—a tiny pine tree that swung back and forth as Ryan backed out of the parking lot—made the air impossible to breathe. Either it was the thick pine scent clinging to the stale air of the car making Dallon choke, or his own anxiety, readjusting his glasses obsessively.

Ryan chuckled, a sound so carefree it relieved some of Dallon's pressure. "You serenaded the triage nurse so beautifully she burst into tears. No gonna lie, I thought you were gay until you helped Kathy overcome her divorce through the power of music."

"What did I... What did I say to her?" Dallon stammered, dumbfounded by the memories rushing back. They were all blurred, but Dallon could hear his own giggle echoing through his scrambled cranium. Add mashed lyrics and a crowd of nurses doting on him, and Dallon felt like he was drunk all over again, suddenly paranoid that Ryan thought he wasn't gay.

Dallon _was_ gay. He thought. But he couldn't help his drunk self being a womanizer, even if he had only sung a love song to recent divorcees who fawned over him like he was a child who'd just learned to walk. The perfume scent that lingered on his neck made more sense now.

"I'm gay." Dallon blurted in panic, avoiding Ryan's amused stare. He wasn't grinning fully on, but the silhouette of a smile tugged at Ryan's Cheshire cat lips, the shadows of his dimples flaring up.

Oh, Dallon loved that smile. Even if it was at Dallon's expense, and Ryan was glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes, that smile was enough to make Dallon positively giddy. Like a child on Christmas morning.

Man, something about being around Ryan made Dallon act more juvenile than he was—maybe there was something in the cologne Ryan was wearing, or the strong tone of his voice, or the way his eyes shimmered with a boyish type of mischief. But it made Dallon act out like a child, trying to steal Ryan's attention for himself.

Maybe Ryan had some influence on Dallon's bad decisions last night, even if he was miles away at the time. Maybe there was some part of Dallon that wanted to prove to Ryan that he was as edgy as him, even though that was the biggest lie Dallon had told himself since he'd tried to convince himself he was straight.

But that sparkle in Ryan's eyes, the one that giggled under its breath when Dallon wasn't looking, it hooked Dallon into its mystery like a fish to bait. All Dallon wanted to do was to swim in the shine of Ryan's eyes, to lounge there until he was strong enough to face all the worries of the real world. But here Dallon was, fidgeting with his hands as Ryan smirked to himself and turned on his blinker.

"...Good to know." Ryan finally said, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel and giving Dallon a lopsided grin. "Y'know, I was hoping that the guy I kissed was gay, but I was willing to suffice with a new straight friend."

"I- I promise I'm gay. I think. I don't know." Dallon sighed, bones deflating inside of him with his slow exhale. Things were so confusing these days; was Dallon even gay? Did he even like Ryan?

Did Dallon regret making that list?

Yes, yes, and yes.

"Well hey, the good news is you don't have to decide now. I mean, your insurance just paid for my next phone, so I owe that much to you." Ryan winked at him, turning off of a busy street onto a quieter side one. Dallon had never been to this part of town before, a maze of buildings with pride flags hanging out their windows and vines crawling up every limestone brick. The stone only crumbled into finer dust the deeper into the neighborhood they dove, the car squeaking dangerously under the weight of Dallon and all his questions about his sexuality.

"I just..." Dallon caught his lip between his teeth, the sea of doubt splashing over the edge inside him. It had been restless since last night, but now, as Ryan drove down small backstreets, all Dallon wanted to do was to spill the contents of the sea onto the beautiful boy next to him.

Ryan deserved that much at least.

"I'm not like... that. I mean, I'm not the type of guy who jumps off of stages and drinks until sunrise. I don't even drink coffee, I mean— I don't know why I jumped off the stage. Well I mean, I do- argh!" Dallon growled under his breath in frustration, looking out the butterfly-coated window. Every house on this street had an empty beer case on its step, some of them decorated with empty cans that shone like jewels in the tuffs of every front lawn.

"You're making less sense than you made last night," Ryan gave him skeptical side-eye, pulling the car onto the curb in front of a stubby apartment building. Its red brick would've given Dallon a headache, but whatever they'd put into him at the hospital was still working it's magic inside of him. If Dallon wasn't dealing with so many conflicting thoughts at once, then he might've appreciated the medicine high he was still holding onto, insides clinging to the fuzz of the saline solution.

Dallon sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning to face Ryan. If he was going to tell Ryan about the list, he was going to do it staring into those gorgeously tired eyes, not that he'd be able to keep the secret for much longer. Something about Ryan's eyes made Dallon want to spill out every secret he'd had in the last ten years, catching his hubris in its jaws and coaxing every tiny confession out of him.

Dallon was sure Ryan didn't want to hear about all the crayons he'd stolen in kindergarten, the tests he'd cheated on in grade school, and the _one_ (1) time he'd looked up "boobs" on a school computer. Spoiler alert, they weren't as great as all the boys said they were. But Dallon wasn't going to unload all his useless secrets onto Ryan, at least not today.

"...I went to the bar on a dare, and I never thought the night was going to turn out like that. I was so excited that a guy liked me that when I went to band practice the next day, I told all the guys that I wanted to do more dares, to do more risky stuff. So they made a list for me of things I should try, and getting drunk was one of them. That's not who I am, I promise." Dallon finished his rant with a gulp, unsure what to make of Ryan's expression. It wasn't mean, but it wasn't kind either. It was... entertained.

After a few moments of heavy silence, Ryan spoke up. "So who are you, Mr. Dallon Weekes?"

Who was Dallon Weekes?

A tired, gay bassist? A virgin? An orthodox Mormon? Someone pretending to be somebody they weren't?

What part of his life was Dallon going to let define him?

All his life, he'd been known as Jordan's little brother. As the weirdly tall kid who played softball and snuck VHS tapes into his backpack when no one was looking, the kid who wasn't allowed to go over to anyone's house. The kid who wasn't allowed watching TV, or joining in on Halloween fun, or leaving the house without his parents' permission.

More than anything, Dallon wanted to distance himself from that kid. He never wanted to hear his name mumbled after Jordan's again, like Jordan was the star, and Dallon was the unwanted understudy. He never wanted to hear his name groaned by an adult again, unless it was Ryan while Dallon had sex with him, whatever that meant these days.

Ryan could be the barrier between his old life and his new. That night at the bar had only been a test of strength, a proposition set up by God for Dallon to fall right into. But now, as Dallon was wading knee-deep in the chilling water of his mistakes, he had to make a decision.

Who was Dallon Weekes?

What defined Dallon Weekes?

What did Dallon Weekes _want_?

"...I don't know yet." Dallon murmured, unable to meet Ryan's strong gaze. Shame burned through his chest at his inability to answer Ryan's question, berating himself for not giving him a straight answer.

What type of loser didn't know who they were?

Maybe Ryan could be the wedge between the old Dallon and the new one, the bridge that would span from awkward dork to whoever Dallon was trying to be, even if he didn't know what yet. Maybe Ryan could help him figure that out.

Dallon piped up, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose nervously. "Is that okay...?"

Ryan's frantic nod and gentle smile made all his worries melt away into the squeaky car seats, and before Dallon knew it, an identical grin was spreading on his face too.

"C'mon, let's get you some lunch. After all, it isn't every day that you get bombarded with existential questions from a handsome guy." Ryan's smile shifted into a smirk, and Dallon couldn't help but blush at Ryan's witty remark, even though it was completely true.

Ryan was a handsome guy—maybe one of the most handsomest Dallon had ever met. His judgement was biased—Dallon hadn't really been on the lookout for handsome guys before Ryan—but it was true nonetheless.

The grumble of Dallon's stomach answered for him, glancing up at Ryan sheepishly to help him get out of the car. Dallon might be able to get out of the car on his own, but he didn't really want to try—he didn't want to risk making a fool of himself in front of Ryan, and Dallon wanted Ryan's hands on him again, guiding him out the car and into the apartment. Those strong, drummer hands, with their weird shiny bits and yellow calluses.

Dallon hadn't paid much thought to what he'd seen in the bar, the shimmering square on the inside of his palm. But Ryan wasn't wearing a wedding ring today, and that square had mysteriously disappeared, so Dallon didn't care much anymore. It was most likely a piece of confetti, or a trick of the light.

"Oh, here," Ryan opened the car door for Dallon and grabbed him gently under the arms, one hand sprawled across Dallon's back. He could feel the strength of Ryan's hands through his hoodie, face burning as Ryan held him all the way to the front door before holding it open for Dallon.

Ah, not only strong and smart, but chivalrous. If Dallon's crutches weren't holding him up, his body would've folded right under him, unable to stand anymore under the pressure of his heart.

"So, how are the crutches working for you?" Ryan asked once they were in the elevator, sweeping his hair out of his eyes. Under the grainy yellow of the elevator lights, Ryan shone like an Oscar, eyes flitting down Dallon's weak body.

"Eh, they're fine..." Dallon shrugged, staring down at the caps on the end of his crutches. "'It's not my first time in them anyways."

Ryan raised his eyebrows.

"...Softball injury." Dallon answered reluctantly, refusing to meet that amused tightness in Ryan's cheek, like he was fighting a smile. "I was running for third base when I tripped over my own foot and- uh... nevermind."

Dallon stopped himself before he could tell Ryan the story of how he'd dislocated his knee and cried himself off the softball field at the ripe age of 11. He didn't need Ryan's deep laugh joining the high-pitched giggles of his teammates as Dallon sobbed, cradling his knee as his coach tried to coax him off the red dirt and to his mom's car, where Dallon wailed all the way through the Wendy's drive-thru and to the doctor's office.

His biggest mistake was telling the Brobecks about that funny little incident. Now, he couldn't go through a Wendy's drive-thru with them without someone weeping for their mommy and holding their knee to their chest.

"Softball player, huh?" The dip in Ryan's cheek only tightened. "Adorable. Lemme guess, you had the matching uniform and everything?"

A laugh burst from Dallon's lips just in time as the elevator doors opened, a bland hall stretching on in front of them. Well, most of the hall was bland, except for a door at the very end.

As Dallon neared it, his eyes adjusted to the neon sticky notes plastered all over the hickory door, all donning doodles. Most of them were of little caricatures of people, one with highlighter green hair, one with spiky black hair, and one...

one with Ryan hair.

"Is that you?" Dallon gestured to the sticky note doodle of Ryan playing the drums, with little dot eyes, a straight nose, and jagged hair, covering his eyes the same way real life Ryan's did.

"Oh, yeah," Ryan chuckled as he unlocked the door, sending the rainbow sea of fluttering like vivid butterfly wings. Dallon inspected the other ones as he clacked by—most were of the spiky-haired guy, eyes circled with red pen that doubled as blood on the straight line of his mouth.

Dallon had a hard time believing a person like that actually existed outside of the stories his parents told him about Satan worshipers.

As Dallon swung himself into the apartment, his nose was hit with the strong smell of lavender, burnt toast, and smoke. He would've been more alarmed by the smell if he wasn't so preoccupied by everything in the open space apartment, so many odd decorations strung around the house it was hard to stay focused on one alone. Dallon could see everything from where he was standing, from the Danny DeVito cutout taped on the wall across from him, to the sleeping bag sprawled across the couch, to the small fire on the toaster and the creepy dolls on top of the kitchen cupboards.

Wait a minute- small fire?

In all the insanity of the apartment, Dallon nearly missed the guy in the kitchen, standing next to the toaster fire and waving to them with his mouth full.

"Rymf! Awgmf?" The stranger's eyebrows drew together in confusion at Dallon, taking in his cracked glasses, crutches and cast.

The stranger in the kitchen was the type of person Dallon's parents scowled at, turning Dallon's head so he couldn't see them and want to dress like that. Red makeup surrounded his eyes like a rash, charcoal black hair spiked up, various tattoos lining his exposed arms, all the way down to the bracelets around his wrist, metal chains and string twisted into patterns.

The guy from the drawings.

If Dallon ever came home looking like that, he might as well pack his bags and move to Canada. After growing up in a household where "modest was hottest" and watching porn would have you banished from your religion, Dallon didn't think a guy wearing makeup and nail polish would be taken very lightly. Heck, if the words 'nail polish' ever left Dallon's lips, he'd be met with a lesson about God's punishment for men who decided to break away from God's great gender roles.

Yuck.

"Dallon, this is Remington. Rem, this is Dallon." Ryan introduced them, arm still wrapped around Dallon's back, helping him stay steady as he got used to the crutches.

With a half-smile, Dallon gave him a little wave, unsure what to make of his appearance. Too much adrenaline was still coursing through him to think straight, and Ryan's apartment looked like a weird fever dream, complete with the orange flames that licked at the bottom of the wooden cupboards.

That couldn't be good.

"Another fire, Remington? Really?" Ryan walked over and grabbed the hose from the sink, pointing it at the sparking toaster and shielding his face from the droplets that ricocheted back at him. "What have I told you about putting the bread in the toaster with the Nutella on it?"

"Nawt to do it." Remington answered with his mouth still full, hanging his head low in shame. If Dallon wasn't still glancing around the apartment in amazement, he might have made some comment about the kitchen fire Ryan just put out. But he was gazing at every oddity with a child-like astonishment, listing them all in his head for when he'd tell the Brobecks about them later.

Porcelain frogs. More creepy baby dolls. A poster of some yellow, jellybean-looking creature with the word 'GEOFF' written on it. Balloons stuck to the ceiling. The window covered in dry erase marker on the other side of the room.

From where he was standing, Dallon could peek into two bedrooms, a bathroom separating them. It was obvious which one was Ryan's; his name was printed on the door in block letters, while Awsten's was printed on his door in big bubbly letters.

On the couch was a pile of fashion magazines, pages folded over once, twice, three times, with tubes of crimson lipstick slid into their spines. They were sprawled across the purple sleeping bag, a mountain of pillows sitting ruffled on the arm of the couch, a ratty little teddy bear staring back at Dallon with loose button eyes. It was almost haunting, how little life there was left in that bear, cuddled so many times its fur was tattered and mangled into small clumps.

Dallon used to have a stuffed animal like that—a little cow, with beads for eyes and floppy pieces of black felt for spots. Those loose pieces of felt had fallen off one by one over the years, until Dallon was in twelfth grade, and he was sleeping with the whitest cow you'd even seen.

Good thing he never had a to worry about having a girl over all throughout highschool. Dallon was unsure where that cow had ended up, probably in some donation bin for the church's annual Christmas drive. He couldn't think of any kid who'd want a crappy little cow doll that was probably a McDonalds toy at some point, no matter how poor they were.

"Add a new toaster to my grocery list, I was gonna head out after lunch anyways." Ryan spoke to the vampire—Remington—before turning to face Dallon and rolling his eyes playfully. It wasn't in a mean way, rather than an attempt to lighten the mood, even though Dallon's brain was too scrambled to feel anything.

Ugh, alcohol! How could anybody stand drinking that stuff, especially when they had to deal with the morning after? Dallon had just come out of a hospital bed that was more comfortable than his own and he still felt like he'd had the worst sleep of his life.

No wonder church was so early. Nobody had to worry about being hungover from the night before.

That only reminded Dallon of what the consequences would be if his family ever found out about how he'd broken one of the Word of Wisdom rules. Alcoholic drinks were strictly forbidden by the church, along with same-sex relationships.

Hey, he was breaking one rule already, why not go for all of them? Besides, right now Dallon couldn't even fathom how his family would react when they learned what had happened last night.

"So, what do you want first, the lunch or the tour?" Ryan asked Dallon, walking up to him and resting his hand on his shoulder. Dallon immediately stiffened at the gesture, but he hoped Ryan would take it as him getting used to the crutches.

Dallon wasn't really used to hot guys touching him. Especially when they were as hot as Ryan, who only looked better in the bright daylight of the apartment. All he was missing was a halo and wings.

"Um... lunch, I guess." Dallon let his stomach think for him while answering that one. The last time he'd eaten was last night before the show, when he'd eaten a burger backstage as quick as he could before accepting Matt's drink, poisoned with the promise of eventual downfall.

"My apartment doesn't have the greatest reviews on Yelp, but I can tell you that the guests who've eaten here have raved about how good my lunches are." Ryan winked at Dallon, which would've been paralyzing enough on its own, but then he did something worse.

They kissed again. Before Dallon knew what had hit him, Ryan's lips were on his, warm and soft against his still ones. Dallon froze up just as he had last time, gripping onto the crutches with the force of a thousand suns and letting Ryan glide his tongue across Dallon's bottom lip playfully before pulling away.

"...Have you practiced since I last saw you?" Ryan smirked, backing away from Dallon towards the kitchen counter with a bounce in his step. The other roommate paid no attention to them, cleaning up the remaining mess of the smoking toaster and wincing at what Dallon presumed was the piece of bread that had lead to the fire. Once upon a time it might've been bread, but now, it was as hard and stiff as Dallon was while kissing Ryan.

Okay! Wow. Dallon wasn't proud of that thought, just as he wasn't proud of what his body was doing. Thank god for oversized hoodies and baggy jeans, because right now, Dallon was having trouble down south.

Controlling his dick wasn't the only thing Dallon was having trouble with. He lifted his hand to his lips, almost like he wanted to feel the shine Ryan had left on his lower lip, the touch of his tongue to his mouth almost intoxicating.

Who needed alcohol when he could feel Ryan's tongue on him?

"Wh... huh." Dallon murmured, still paralyzed in disbelief. He couldn't really process what Ryan had said about practicing, off in his own little world thinking about kissing Ryan again.

Finally, the words caught up, and Dallon could make his mouth work again. By now, Ryan was dumping a can of something into a pot over the stove, glancing back at Dallon every few seconds to confirm the state he'd left him in.

"Uh, no, I- I haven't practiced kissing anybody since you..." Dallon said that last part quietly, shifting his weight from one crutch to the other. The dimple in Ryan's cheek tightened at Dallon's answer, the only part of Ryan's face that Dallon could see while his head was half turned away.

"Really?" Ryan stirred the pot. Dallon was shocked at how much disbelief echoed through Ryan's voice, but he couldn't tell if it was real or sarcasm. He was hoping the former. "Well, you've certainly gotten better, but that doesn't mean there's no room for improvement..."

Ryan's words were hinting at something again, but before Dallon could make an inquiry about Ryan teaching him how to kiss better, the apartment door burst open.

"You asshole!" Awsten came flying in, a look on his face that was almost as erratic as the mop of neon hair on his head. "You left me there all alone- how could you! You're just as bad as my dad."

Dallon recognized the tone of his voice. It was one he heard the majority of the time with the Brobecks, the tone that said "I'm acting like I'm mad, but really, I'm just joking."

It had taken him awhile to learn what that tone was, and it had cost Dallon nights spent worrying about what his friends were saying instead of enjoying the time with them. But after withstanding joke after joke about Dallon's invisible girlfriend, Dallon had gotten accustomed to that funny tone, the one that made every insult sting less.

"Awsten, we have a guest, don't be rude." Remington mumbled from where he was sitting, hunched over the bar on the end of their kitchen, scrolling through his phone. Dallon had to spin on his crutches to see him, confused at how he ended up from right next to Ryan at the stove, to over by the bar. Maybe he _was_ a vampire.

"Oh, hi Dallon." Awsten waved to Dallon, who hadn't moved from his spot in the middle of the living room since he'd gotten there. Dallon was leaning on his crutches comfortably, all his weight pressing into the tiny rubber caps of the metal sticks.

"Ryan, I can't believe you left me there with Kathy. Do you know what she did last time we were in prep together? She touched my arm. No, she _squeezed_ it." Awsten was in a full blown rant, standing next to Ryan and talking his ear off as Ryan nodded mindlessly. "It's not that I don't like the attention, but when I say I like older women, I mean early 40s. Not women as old as Kathy."

"Awsten, you realize she's like, 30? 35?" Ryan said, not giving Awsten a second glance. Instead, he turned off the stove and strode over to Dallon, sliding his hand up his back again. If Dallon could think straight, he'd be worried that Ryan was going to kiss him again, but Dallon could barely think at all with Ryan's hand cupping his back.

Ryan guided Dallon over to Remington at the bar, helping him sit on the bar stool and leaning his crutches against the counter, a gentle smile gracing his face as he went to serve Dallon lunch. All Dallon could do while Ryan was helping him was gawk, staring at Ryan's hands with eyes the size of the moon, like they were working miracles instead of holding him upright as he swung his broken ankle underneath the stool.

"How'd that happen—Dallon, was it?" Remington asked, eyes flitting down to Dallon's cast and back up to his face. It was weird, sitting next to someone who looked like they belonged in a pamphlet about stranger-danger, or Satan worshipers. But... Dallon kinda liked Remington's look. The spiky hair, the dark makeup, the smeared lipstick and the ripped clothing— it was all so different to Dallon, it was fascinating.

"Yeah, Dallon... um, it was..." Dallon scratched the nape of his neck, picking at a little pimple behind his ear nervously. Yeah, Ryan and Awsten knew he'd jumped off the stage, and they were the two coolest people Dallon had ever interacted with, but could he tell Remington?

Oh well. What else did he have to lose, other than his dignity and pride?

"I jumped off of a stage while I was, uh, kinda drunk..." Dallon trailed off. "Okay, not kinda drunk, really drunk. I was really drunk."

There was no sense in being shameful. Even though Dallon's phone sat dead in his hoodie pocket, he knew that it was chock-full of videos and texts from his friends that had that signature tone, the one Awsten had used. Actually, a part of Dallon was glad that his phone was dead—he didn't think he'd be able to handle that tone right now. All Dallon could think about was getting home and falling asleep.

Or staying here, and falling asleep in Ryan's arms. Oh, they would be comfier than any bed, and Dallon could cuddle with him until the entire incident seemed like nothing but a bad dream.

If only he could tell Ryan that. But every time he was near him, he clammed up and accidentally said something stupid.

"Woah, really?" Remington exclaimed, slapping Dallon on the back. Dallon winced at the short-lived pain that followed, but cracked the most confident smile he could.

"That's sick, man! I mean, I've climbed onto shit on stage before, but I can't say I've ever stage-dived." Remington said, taking a sip from the drink in front of him.

"You're a musician too?" Dallon asked, listening to the squeak of the stool next to him. Awsten had taken a seat on the other side of Dallon, all three of them patiently waiting for whatever Ryan was making for lunch. The kitchen smelled like broth and vegetables, all coming from the pot Ryan was stirring, hunched over the stove and half-listening to their conversation.

"Oh, yeah! We're all musicians." Remington gestured to Ryan and Awsten. "Ryan's In Falling in Reverse, Awsten's in Waterparks, and I'm in Palaye Royale."

Dallon didn't know any of the bands he was naming, but he smiled and nodded nonetheless. Remington looked like he was expecting some sort of big reaction, and Dallon didn't want to let him down. Especially because it was his first time meeting him.

"Oh, that's... cool." Dallon was distracted by the bowl Ryan was placing in front of him, steam wafting up from the yellow broth. Vegetables and noodles bobbed in the liquid, ceramic bowl hot as Dallon pulled it closer to himself and thanked Ryan for handing him a spoon.

"So..." Dallon said after swallowing a spoonful of the soup, wiping the remains off his lips with the back of his hoodie sleeve. Ryan's touch was long gone by now, but just like the first time they kissed, Dallon was still reliving the moment over and over in his mind. "You guys both live here with Ryan?"

Dallon only recalled Ryan talking about one roommate, not two. But from the looks of it, Remington wasn't exactly permanent—Dallon had strung together the lipstick-stuffed fashion magazines and Remington's choice in fashion, and had come to the conclusion that the purple sleeping bag belonged to him.

"Remington's only staying for a few months while his brothers travel the world." Ryan answered, standing across from Dallon on the other side of the counter. He was ladling the same soup into his mouth, giving Dallon a warm smile when he finished talking, one that made Dallon's heart melt a bit in his chest.

"Meanwhile, I have to put up with Awsten every day until his parents' bank account runs out." Ryan rolled his eyes again, something that was becoming a regular occurrence when they were with Awsten. Dallon wasn't complaining. He liked their childish banter; it reminded him that he wasn't the only person with asshole friends.

"Or until I meet a girl that can handle me," Awsten piped up, pointing at Ryan with his spoon accusingly. "But all my dates want to talk about is _him_."

Ryan shrugged, as if he was saying he couldn't help it that Awsten's potential girlfriends were all attracted to Ryan. "Sorry dude, can't help being the best looking one in this place."

"Do you have any advice with the ladies, Dallon?" Awsten turned to face Dallon, question catching him off-guard. Dallon didn't really want to interrupt their conversation; in fact, it was kinda fun watching them all rib on each other.

"Oh, uh... no, I don't really do, uh, women." Dallon said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "I wasn't really allowed to date growing up, and I wasn't allowed radio and television, so I don't have any tips for you there..."

"I have a tip for you Awsten." Remington was grinning, eyes crinkling just like Ryan's did when he smiled. "Get rid of the hair, and people will start paying attention to your face instead of the green highlighter on top of it."

"Y'know, if an injured dude wasn't sitting between us, I'd beat your ass right now, WWE style." Awsten cracked his knuckles threateningly, but Remington just laughed.

"Wait- so Ryan, you met Dallon at a bar?" Remington changed the subject, looking Dallon up and down. It was obvious that he was taking in Dallon's appearance; Ryan probably didn't usually bring home guys who looked like Dallon. Even though he wasn't wearing the nerd outfit he was wearing when he met Ryan, it was still obvious that he didn't belong to the same social circle as any of them.

"Yeah, we got talking and before we knew it, we were kissing." Ryan raised his eyebrows, a half-smirk gracing his lips. "Fun night."

"You kissed on the first date?! God, I wish I was gay." Awsten said, slamming down his hand again. Dallon noticed that he used his hands a lot when he talked, which was a bad thing when he was holding a utensil and Dallon was sitting right next to him. "Girls these days just wanna take photos of my hair so they can gossip to their friends later."

The rest of Dallon's lunch was spent listening to Awsten rant about how the contrast of iPhone cameras made him look like an ogre, which meant that most of his dates ended with uncomfortable silence and an apology from a girl.

"You know what Awsten, I think you should take Remington's advice and shave your head." Ryan giggled to himself as he cleared Dallon's dishes, much to Dallon's dismay. Ryan had taken such good care of him all day, from fixing his glasses for him, to bringing him to his house and making lunch for Dallon, and Dallon couldn't help but feel guilty. He didn't want to take advantage of Ryan's good nature for much longer, and as friendly as Awsten and Remington were, he'd only just met them.

There was only so many new things Dallon could handle in one day, and he was looking forward to going back to his own apartment and laying in his own bed, where he could be left alone to contemplate everything that had happened. It was going to take Dallon's mind some time to wrap itself around everything new, from meeting Awsten and Remington, to learning about Awsten's dating quest and Remington's habit of starting kitchen fires. Plus, Dallon wanted to get home so he could privately think about Ryan kissing him again.

So once all the dishes were cleared and all of Awsten's stories of horrible dates were shared, Dallon broke the news.

"I should probably get going home..." He said, hopping off the stool and balancing his weight on one foot while he reached for his crutches. "Thank you- for lunch, I mean. And for bringing me here."

Dallon forced his mouth into the most sincere smile he could give, and Ryan mirrored it from his spot over by the sink. He quickly abandoned the soapy dishes to help Dallon to the door, hand rubbing the soft material of Dallon's sweater a little more than appropriate, like it was a genie's lamp and he was searching for his three wishes in Dallon's back.

"I like your sweater." Ryan's eyes crinkled even further, holding open the elevator as Dallon clunked into it, swinging his broken ankle along. "It's cute."

Dallon blushed, looking down at his hoodie. It was an ordinary hoodie in his eyes, but if Ryan liked it, Dallon would wear it every day of his life.

"Th-Thanks." Dallon stammered, standing awkwardly next to Ryan in the elevator as it descended. He wanted to say something nice back to Ryan, anything to return all the graciousness he'd lent to Dallon today, but his brain could barely make the words come out.

"You're-" Dallon's throat blocked up, clearing it so frantically he sounded like he was choking. "You're hot."

Fuck, that was the best compliment he could come up with? Dallon had written love songs, for crying out loud.

That wasn't what Dallon wanted to say. What he really wanted to tell Ryan was how badly he needed to be kissed again, how much he craved having Ryan's eyes on him, how hopelessly infatuated he was with the dimple on his chin and how much he wanted to hold Ryan's hand right now.

But instead, a weird, half-snort half-guffaw escaped his lips, a sound comparable to one of a pig. Thankfully, it left his mouth at the same time the elevator doors dinged and swung open, revealing the khaki-coloured lobby.

Ryan was silent all the way to the car, opening the door for Dallon before getting into the driver's side. His quietness made Dallon's heart race, staring at Ryan in anticipation as he started the car.

Did Dallon say something wrong? Did people not call each other hot? Or did that mean something else these days?

"Mm, thank you." Ryan finally spoke up, putting his hand behind the passenger seat and looking out the back window as he backed up. There was something about the way he did that that made Dallon's stomach flutter, eyes lingering on the thick muscles of Ryan's biceps. He'd taken off his leather jacket earlier, and Dallon could barely breathe, especially when he jokingly flexed them after he caught Dallon staring.

They were so _big_. Compared to Dallon's stick figure, Ryan was so... broad, and muscular, and manly. It was obvious he was a drummer; his entire upper frame was strong and thick, the tight material of his button-up molding to each dip and curve in his chest.

Dallon wanted to touch his chest.

He'd never felt anything like that before. But it was a... a compulsive _need_. Dallon wanted to rub his hands all over Ryan's chest, maybe even giving those glorious pecs a few licks.

Oh. Oh gosh.

Dallon couldn't be thinking that. Especially not when he was sitting right next to Ryan, suddenly sweaty enough to fill an entire swimming pool with his perspiration. Was his face red? It felt like it was red. It felt like it was on fire.

What would God do to him for thinking these thoughts? Dallon wasn't entirely married to his religion, but he couldn't erase the years of teachings his parents had indoctrinated into him. As every man did, Dallon had had... impure thoughts before. But never anything like this.

The image was enough to make him pull down his hoodie further, forever grateful for his past decision to wear big clothes. But the thoughts just kept coming, imagining what it would be like to be between those muscular arms, laying his head on Ryan's chest and breathing in the scent of tangerines and chocolate.

Oh, he smelled so good.

How could one person have this much of an effect on Dallon? He was convinced Ryan had hypnotized him, or had used some of that gay-magic on him, the idiotic type of stuff his parents had rambled on and on to him about.

But gosh, Dallon was infatuated. He sent a silent prayer to whoever may be listening, hoping that if there was this God that his parents always talked about, then his thoughts could be excused.

At least he never thought about anything truly explicit. Dallon was content with dancing around that thought for as long as he could without actually giving into the temptation, even if it was so hard.

So, so very hard. Fuck.

If Ryan had noticed the fire-hydrant red of Dallon's face, or the situation that was unfolding in his pants, he didn't mention it. His eyes were stuck to the road, only diverting them to turn on the radio and flip through channels.

"So you really weren't allowed radio?" Ryan asked, landing on a station and bringing his hand back to the wheel. Dallon tried not to stare at the veins on the back of his hand.

"Oh, uh, no." Dallon scratched the back of his neck, flustered and caught off guard by Ryan's question.

"Why?"

"I dunno, I mean... I guess it was in the name of religion, or protecting me or whatever, but it only made me want to listen to music more..." Dallon didn't know what the parameters of a conversation were supposed to be. How much could he tell Ryan without oversharing? They didn't exactly have a definite relationship.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm assuming you're Mormon?" Ryan gave him side-eye. Dallon nodded hesitantly. "Is this allowed, or should I turn it off?"

The radio. Dallon shook his head, fidgeting with the loose threads on his hoodie sleeve.

"I don't really do that anymore, uh, the whole blocking out thing. I don't know. It's complicated." Dallon didn't really feel like unloading his entire life story on this stranger, even if Ryan was the most comfortable stranger he knew. "I don't drink caffeine, and I normally don't drink alcohol, and I go to church and spend Sunday and Monday dinners at my parents' house. And I can't watch... uh... that type of stuff..."

Dallon didn't want to say the word porn in front of Ryan. That was just a slippery slope towards actually discussing sex, which would lead to Dallon's embarrassing secret, which would lead to Ryan dropping him off at his apartment and never speaking again.

"But you're gay, right?" Ryan glanced at him again.

"Yes. I... like men." Dallon didn't like how hard it was to say those words out loud. Sure, he could admit it all he wanted in his head, but the only other people he'd ever come out to were the Brobecks.

It was just a reminder that one day he'd have to come out to his parents. And if he couldn't say the h-e-l-l word, then he sure as heck couldn't actually admit to the most orthodox people he knew that he was in love with another man. Especially a man like Ryan, who was smug and hot and knew how the world worked.

"Good. Just making sure." The muscle in Ryan's cheek tightened. "I'd hate for such an attractive man to go to waste in the hands of some woman."

"Oh..." Dallon gasped, body jerked forward when Ryan stopped in front of his apartment.

Flirting. But Dallon didn't have the mental capacity to think of anything to send back, even though there were so many things Dallon could tell him. There were so many things Dallon _wanted_ to tell him, like the weird thoughts he was having, or how much he idolized Ryan's carefree temperament, or how badly he wanted to invite Ryan into his apartment and cuddle with him for the rest of the night.

But instead, Dallon simply spoke the first thought on his mind.

"How do you know where I live...?"

"Magic." Ryan whispered, giving him the same jazz-hands Awsten had given him at the hospital. It must run in the family. "Just kidding. Your address is on the medical records, and I pulled them when I charged your insurance. By the way, who's Mary-Anne and David Weekes?"

Oh fuck. Oh no.

His parents. Dallon had forgotten that he was still on his parents' insurance plan.

There was no way of escaping their righteous wrath, especially not when they probably knew exactly what happened. And tomorrow, at the family dinner, Dallon would get an earful for how dangerous his job was, while Jordan would sit there with a smug air about him. Not the good type of smug either, not like Ryan's tight-lipped smirks or cheeky eye-rolls. No, Jordan would be silently mocking him from across the table, bringing up some miracle he performed at work to make Dallon look worse.

Wait. Family dinner. Family dinners were always on Mondays, which meant that today was Sunday, which meant...

"I missed church!" Dallon exclaimed once the realization set in. He pushed open the car door as fear spread through his body, what had just been warm sweat stains turning cold in his sudden horror.

Dallon hasn't missed church in 22 years. Surely a broken ankle would be a good enough excuse for his parents, wouldn't it?

That was just wishful thinking at this point. Dallon had to get inside, charge his phone and start planning out his excuse before his parents got ahold of a video, or a photo of Dallon drunk and unconscious on the venue floor.

Fuck, if they knew he got drunk, he'd be forced to start living back at home again, watched carefully every minute of the day. Or worse, he'd have to join a mission. No more radio. No more cell phone. No more _Ryan_.

Dallon stumbled out of the car, fumbling for his crutches to hold him up. For a moment, Dallon was so distressed about missing church that he had forgotten his ankle was still twisted, nearly recreating his awful stage-dive on the pavement.

"Are you alright? Do you need help getting up to your apartment?" Ryan reached for the handle of his door, hesitating when Dallon shook his head.

"No, no-" Dallon tripped around the car and up the curb, swallowing hard as he turned around to say goodbye to Ryan. He wanted to thank him for today, for fixing his leg, for making him lunch and for introducing him to his friends.

He wanted to thank Ryan for helping him figure out a little bit more about himself, for asking him the type of questions no one had ever asked. But as per usual, Dallon couldn't force his mouth to work. And as per usual, Ryan said it all for him.

"I'm glad you came over today," Ryan beckoned for Dallon to come closer to the open car window. "We should do something like this again, without the hospital part."

"Y-Yeah..." Dallon said, leaning into the car window when Ryan motioned for him to. "Uh, um, thank you for everything..."

"Oh, anytime." Ryan grabbed Dallon's cheek once he was close enough to the car, pulling his face in for a light kiss. It was much more chaste than the last one, but it still caught Dallon off guard, completely sweeping him off his wobbly legs as Ryan stroked his cheek.

Dallon was breathless when they pulled away, Ryan's hand still cupping his chin delicately, like he was made of glass.

"Oh, by the way..." Ryan whispered into Dallon's lips, voice dropping a few octaves. The change made Dallon's bones shiver, stomach filled with a thousand stars that were all hopping on his nerves, holding his breath in anticipation.

Ryan leaned in closer so that their lips were almost touching, uttering the next words softly under his breath. "You should do a better job of hiding your boner next time."

Ryan let go of Dallon's cheek and drove away, leaving Dallon's jaw on the ground and his heart in his crotch.

He _knew_?!

At least Ryan wasn't put off by it, based on the entertained mug he wore as he left Dallon in a cloud of dust and embarrassment. All Dallon could do was stare in awe as Ryan rounded the corner, pulling down his hoodie lower in hopes of taking Ryan's advice. Not that it mattered now; Dallon couldn't even fathom getting an erection when such a heavy weight hung over him.

Gosh. He didn't want to face his parents, especially after such a good day. If only he could live in this moment forever, standing on the curb of his apartment building, letting the light wind push around his hair as he waiting for that ratty old car to come sputtering back around the corner. But it never came back.

Was it bad that Dallon already missed Ryan?

With a heavy sigh, he lugged himself in through the front doors of his apartment, eyeing the elevator that had been out of order since Dallon moved in. He'd already been to the hospital once today, he didn't want another accident happening.

So Dallon shuffled sideways up the stairs, mind almost fuzzy with how exhausted he was. It was flitting between thoughts about Ryan and his parents, emotions switching between adoration and anxiety like someone was playing with the light switch in his mind.

Ryan's arms. Missing church. Ryan's kisses. Liking another guy. Ryan's jokes and the way he always made Dallon feel included in the conversation. Breaking one of the commandments of God.

That was the big one. Dallon knew he was gay, and he knew it was fine to be gay- but he knew his parents didn't know that. In fact, they were especially against that, just as they were against television and music and anything that could connect Dallon to the "horrible world outside".

All his life, Dallon was taught that the world outside their small community was a dangerous place, filled with slimy men and women who'd coax Dallon into doing terrible things. He was told that if he lived within the religion for his entire life—which meant becoming a missionary—then he'd be safe from the horrors of the earth outside Mormonism.

At first, Dallon believed it. As much as he hated it, Dallon went to every youth group meeting, recited every truth ("I _know_ the Book of Mormon is true, I _know_ Joseph Smith was a prophet, I know. I know. I know."), and always answered yes when older relatives would ask him if he was going to become a missionary.

And then, he met Mike. Michael Gross, in all his _normal_ glory. That was the thing about Mike; he was a normal kid, who'd grown up with normal parents and normal habits. Even though Mike was Mormon too, his parents were definitely a lot different than Dallon's.

And Dallon idolized Mike's life. He idolized the twenty minutes of television Mike was given each school night, the tunes Mike would hum under his breath in class, the way Mike was allowed to get any haircut he wanted as long as it was still appropriate for school. Meanwhile, Dallon was plunked down in his room from when he got home until dinner, forced to read some second-hand book his mom had picked up at some church sale.

Dallon wanted to _be_ Mike. And so, as most adolescent friendships go, Dallon started asking Mike questions about everything he didn't have an answer to.

That was when Dallon realized that his family wasn't normal, that not every Mormon family ran such a strict regimen.

Ever since then, Dallon had been slowly shifting from his parents' view of the religion, to Mike's. The carefree side, where religion wasn't your defining characteristic. Where you could openly be who you wanted to be without worrying about being excommunicated from the only community you've known your whole life.

That led Dallon to today, silent contemplating what the consequences of his actions would be as he unlocked his apartment door. A hard talking to? A scolding over the phone? Or something more serious, like Church discipline?

As much as he thought he wanted it, Dallon wasn't truly ready to let go of his community. He could only hope that when the time came that he'd leave his parents' church for one that would accept Dallon for who he was, that it would be his own choice, and not one forced upon him.

Dallon let the crutches fall to the carpeted ground and sat on his bed, sweeping the dirty laundry off the side and plugging in his phone. The little red power bar that came onscreen taunted him, flashing once, twice, before his phone turned on again.

The first text message that popped up was one from Ryan, sent three minutes ago.

(801) 196-7794: text me when you get to your apartment :)

He was looking out for him. Dallon nearly swooned at the gesture, but he didn't have enough time to before the other text messages started rolling in.

MIKE: Attachment: 1 image

MIKE: Attachment: 1 image

MIKE: Attachment: 1 video

MIKE: this isn't good dude

MIKE: your mom called me this morning

Oh fuck. Of course his mom called Mike; she had never liked him, but she knew he was Dallon's best friend. And she knew Mike would cave in and tell her everything as soon as she applied the slightest of pressure.

Then the texts from the Brobecks groupchat began to come in, phone buzzing with no end in sight.

BRYAN: someone put a video on youtube

MATT: link??

BRYAN: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I2oJs5rR37A

BRYAN: making the sound he made my ringtone brb

Dallon didn't dare click on the link. He couldn't imagine what sound he made when he collided with the ground, but it couldn't be a good one. And he knew that that stupid sound was going to become the next softball-Wendy's-drive-thru story, a noise that would be mocked for the rest of Dallon living days.

The text messages kept flooding in, popping up one after another on Dallon's screen as he watched. His phone mustn't have had service all night, as the oldest ones he got were from 7 hours ago. 5 hours ago. 3 hours ago.

MOM: Dallon James Weekes what is the meaning of this video.

MOM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I2oJs5rR37A

1 minute ago.

Dallon's hand slipped on the screen as he tried to call his mom, mind racing with guilt and worry as it rang. She picked up on the first ring, just as she always did when Dallon was in trouble.

"Do you care to explain where you were this morning? Or will I have to call Michael to get any actual information?" She screeched like a parakeet, words honed to a perfect point.

"How much do you know?" Dallon gulped nervously, holding the phone away from his ear as her voice grew in pitch and volume.

"First, the hospital calls me to tell me that my son is unconscious in a hospital bed. Second, they refuse to tell me why. Then I call Michael. Then, Michael tells me that you decided to jump off the stage at a _bar_ last night. Tell me, what were you doing at a bar, Dallon James?"

She didn't know that he'd gotten drunk. Dallon breathed a silent cheer out of relief, kicking his cast against the side of his bed as he racked his brain in search of an answer.

"I was... playing a show?" Dallon said warily, like he didn't even know the answer to his question.

"You had us worried sick all night, and you can't even bother to call us to let us know why you're missing church?" His mom sighed at the other end of the phone, screechy voice crackling as she moved it from one ear to the other. "I don't have time to deal with your misbehavior right now. We will discuss this tomorrow night over dinner, unless you decide to jump off of another structure before then."

She hung up before Dallon could answer for himself, not that he had anything to say to his mom. She always had that effect on him, an ability to render Dallon speechless. If her and Ryan ganged up, they'd be able to erase Dallon's voice forever.

Except Dallon liked it when Ryan made him speechless. When his mom made him speechless, Dallon felt like a wimpy little kid again, getting scolded by his mommy.

With a sigh that resembled his mother's, Dallon responded to Ryan with a quick yes, thumbs typing another text before he could stop them.

_'Sorry for getting hard when you kissed me.'_

Nope. Dallon couldn't send that text, even if he truly wanted to. Even though his reputation was stained by his idiotic decision last night, he was still clinging to whatever Ryan saw in him that he liked. And he wasn't going to throw that away on one stupid text.

His phone clicked as he deleted the message, swinging his feet onto the bed and leaning against his pillow.

_'I really liked it when you kissed me.'_

No, that was too forward. And kind of boring. Dallon wanted to match Ryan's level of wit and charm, even if it was humanly impossible for him to learn how to talk to cute guys like he knew anything. He didn't know anything, but that was besides the point.

_'You never got around to teaching me how to kiss.'_

It was like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. The first message was too blunt, the second message was too measly, and the third was perfect.

Message sent.

Delivered 1 minute ago.

(801) 196-7794 is typing...

(801) 196-7794: adorable

(801) 196-7794: come over tuesday night and ill give you a lesson ;)

Victory. Dallon pumped his fist in the air triumphantly, giggling quietly to himself like a teenage girl. He couldn't stop his body from shivering in thrill, thinking of what it would mean to see Ryan again.

A kissing lesson. Wow. Dallon slumped down so that he was laying on his bed, holding his phone to his pattering heart. Maybe if he pressed hard enough, Ryan could feel Dallon's heartbeat through the phone, that wonderful thumping that resounded through Dallon's entire body.

All Dallon had to do was get through dinner with his family tomorrow night.

How hard could that be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, there's a lot going on in this chapter, so i hope it all makes sense...... if you have any questions id be happy to answer them in the comments!! :)
> 
> also- awsten and remington are here!! yay!!
> 
> let me know what you thought, and thank you all for so much support on the first chapter!! <33 next chapter might take a little while (lots of stuff is happening in it) but i hope to post it in the next week or two!!


	3. could this be love at first sight, or should i clack by again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry i've been gone so long!! also: razzmatazz is out !! also: biden is president!! wooo!!
> 
> enjoy the chapter!! :) <3

1639 Cedar Drive.

Dallon stood in front of the house he'd known his entire life, trying to steady his breaths before facing his family.

This was nothing like performing. No, on a stage, all of Dallon's worries were left behind the curtain that separated Dallon from the real world. But here, Dallon was trapped, forced to put on a character that wasn't him at all. And even though Dallon tried his hardest to come across as the perfect son, his parents still completely ignored him for Jordan.

From where Dallon was standing at the curb, he could spot the lights on in the kitchen, and his mother bending over the counter. He knew that she'd been cooking all day—it wasn't like she anything better to do than ridicule Dallon's life choices and slave away under the heat of the oven. As for his dad, he was probably at work all day as a religious consultant at the church.

Growing up with a stay-at-home mom wasn't uncommon, but now that Dallon was 22, it was plain annoying. His mom had all the time in the world to badger him for living alone, or for not becoming a missionary, or for not finding a girl and marrying yet. Dallon was scared that one of these days, his mother would figure out that the reason he had never had any luck with the women was because he was gay.

Dallon would do anything to put that day as far in the future as possible. And as he stood uneasy outside his parents' house, Dallon had a feeling that that day might be tonight.

It had been hard enough not telling the Brobecks about Ryan. He wanted to spill every detail of his day to them, from how Ryan treated him at the hospital, to the weird lunch, to the comment Ryan had made before driving away. But the Brobecks were all straight, and Dallon didn't think they'd appreciate hearing about some other dude's tongue.

Oh, Ryan's tongue.

There was no way in heck Dallon was going to _not_ think about Ryan at dinner. He'd been occupying Dallon's mind ever since he'd driven Dallon home, replaying their kiss over and over until he could almost feel Ryan's lips pressed against his again.

It took all of Dallon not to masturbate to that thought. He didn't really know how to... um... pet the cat. Shake hands with the milkman. Soften the peach.

Dallon was going to run out of euphemisms before he even came close to masturbating. There was a difference between imagining Ryan's soft lips on his, tongue flicking against his like satin on velvet, faces close enough that their eyelashes brushed like raven wings... and stroking himself to the thought of that.

Sure, there were some things Dallon could do that were a bit risky. But actually touching himself was pushing the limits of his self-inflicted rules.

Thank gosh that wasn't on the list. Because as much as Dallon would love for Ryan to show him... other things... he was only ready for kissing right now. Nothing else.

But oh, that thought was horribly enticing.

Okay. Dallon had to stop thinking about this, especially because he was standing outside of his parents house in a cast and crutches. He didn't exactly have a plan on how he was going to evade punishment for not only injuring himself, but for being at a bar and missing church.

Whatever. It didn't really matter what Dallon said, because Jordan would immediately outshine him with whatever person he'd resurrected from the dead. He was always performing "miracles" like that, but Dallon was skeptical on how many times a doctor could bring a patient back to life before they were crowned a saint.

Dallon's parents had basically already crowned Jordan a saint; his photo sat high and proud on the fireplace, watching over the room like the honorable son he was, while Dallon's photo sat on the little table in the corner of the living room. So much dust had gathered on its frame that his photo looked like one of a ghost, skin turned an ashy grey, hair powdered like a sugar donut.

Now, as Dallon dragged himself to the front door, he could only wish that he was a ghost. Then he'd be able to float in and out without gathering any attention, doing his week's share of laundry and eating as much free food as he could without looking suspicious.

He fumbled with his backpack of dirty clothes as he trudged up the front steps, eyeing the pot of flowers on the stoop that never seemed to decay. Dallon's hand hesitated midair before he pressed the doorbell, running through every scenario in his head before he began what would be the hardest dinner of his life.

Pun intended.

Every scenario ended up with Dallon barred away in his childhood room like a prisoner, but that might just be because his brain was on a negative rampage. He hadn't gotten very much sleep last night, between thinking about Ryan's kisses and the flirtatious texting that spanned on until the rich hours of the morning.

(801) 196-7794: wanna know what my name for you in my phone is???

DALLON: What?

(801) 196-7794: "dallon, adorkable mormon, black tie and cracked glasses"

Shame crept up Dallon's spine at that message, eyeing the unnamed phone number at the top of the screen.

Ryan had named him something so cute Dallon could barely handle himself, and Dallon hadn't even bothered to create a new contact for him. Maybe Dallon didn't make Ryan permanent in his phone, because it wouldn't hurt as much if Ryan had decided to ditch him. But from the looks of it, Ryan wasn't going to delete his number anytime soon.

That thought made Dallon hug his blanket to his chest and blush, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and clicking the + button on Ryan's number.

How was Dallon supposed to match that level of cuteness?

RYAN. No, that was too boring.

RYANS. No, now it just looked like Dallon was talking to more than one Ryan.

RYAN♡. Awh.

That truly was how Dallon felt about him. Yeah, it might be stupid to fall head-over-Penny-Loafers with the first guy who'd ever shown interest in him, but Ryan was so much more than a pretty face.

He made Dallon feel like an entirely different person, like someone new. Ryan had that special effect on him, the ability to spark something new inside Dallon, like his body was a house with faulty wiring. And at his best moments, Dallon's wires would rub against each other and start a fire, one that made all his blood rush to his face and his abdomen.

There was something about Ryan that laid deep beneath the surface, something indescribable that stirred like a cluster of stars, ready to burst at any moment. When Dallon was with Ryan, he could feel that bundle of energy brush shoulders with him, a promise of something else.

A promise of something _more_. And Dallon might not believe in any of that junk, but he couldn't help but believe him and Ryan were pushed together by the universe, like they were two puppets suspended by string and magnets.

Yuck, he didn't like being so sappy. But that certain thing that lived inside Ryan made Dallon go all gooey, like a popsicle that had been left out in the sun.

So RYAN♡ it was.

DALLON: That's a really cute name.

RYAN♡: a cute name for a cute guy ;)

RYAN♡: one sec, awsten and rem are gonna braid their hair together and i need to stop this

RYAN♡: literal children, i swear

That was the last text Ryan had sent, at 1:20AM that morning. Dallon had stayed up for half an hour longer waiting for Ryan to return, but those three little dots didn't pop up again, much to Dallon's dismay. He fell asleep with a grimace on his mouth, clutching his phone to his chest in hopes of being awoken by the buzz of Ryan's text message. Instead, Dallon was woken up by a text from Matt with some meme about Weezer.

It was at times like these that Dallon wished he was allowed to drink coffee.

Dallon let his shoulders fall with a sigh, adjusting the backpack strap over his shoulder and pressing the doorbell. The door swung open to reveal Jordan immediately, like he'd been waiting for Dallon to arrive in all his second-child glory.

"Hey! What's up with the hardware?" Jordan said, opening the door wider and staring as Dallon limped by. His voice was friendly, just like it always was, but Dallon knew it was all a ruse. Somewhere beneath that sugary coating was a ball of sourness, one that only Dallon could see.

"It's just a sprain, don't lose your mind." Dallon grumbled, dropping his backpack on the floor and taking in the house. It looked just like it always did, with its freshly polished floors, celestial paintings of Jesus, weirdly placed quotes about thankfulness, and throw pillows that didn't match. The entire house smelled like old woman perfume—which it had since Dallon was young—and roasted vegetables, which was for dinner. Like it was every week. For 20 years.

Meat was reserved for special occasions, and junk food was "not created by God", so that really only left vegetables and a few other choices. Eggs for breakfast, tomato soup and sandwiches for lunch, and roasted veggies for dinner.

Barf. The first time Dallon tasted a Poptart in eleventh grade, he was hooked, like a fish to a worm. His junk food addiction had only descended from there, and now instead of keeping a bible on his shelf, he kept a box of chocolate chip cookies.

"What type of painkillers are you taking? Codeine? Morphine? Oxycodone?" Jordan followed Dallon to the kitchen, trailing behind him as Dallon's crutches clicked against the tiles. Their mother didn't bother turning around from the stove, waving her hand to say hello as Dallon filled a glass with water and drank it in one breath.

"I dunno, the white ones?" Dallon snapped, shooting Jordan a death glance as his wife, Marie, joined his side.

There was something about Jordan and his perfect little family that pissed Dallon off, an inexplicable anger that gathered in his chest whenever Jordan played golden child. Sure, he seemed like nothing more than a kind-hearted doctor on the surface, but that was exactly what ticked Dallon off. After years of being alone in Jordan's shadow, his brother's stupid picture-perfect life had gotten under Dallon's skin, like a splinter that was buried too deep to get out.

"What happened, Dallon?" Marie asked, swinging her arm over her 6'5 husband like the perfect wife she was. The type of wife that Dallon's parents would love for him to get. Too bad he was into the type of guys that perfect little wives cheated on their boring husbands with.

"He jumped off a stage, can you believe that?" Their mother wiped her hands on her apron as she turned around, lips pulled into a scowl at the sight of the cast. After years of receiving nothing but that scowl, Dallon couldn't remember what her actual mouth looked like.

"It was an... accident." Dallon set down his glass on the counter, clenching his jaw tightly. This was the last place on earth he wanted to be at right now—trapped in a kitchen with his mother, his brother and his brother's comely wife.

He needed to change the subject before one of them asked how it had happened and he was shunned from the family forever. "Where are the twins?"

The twins were Jordan's kids, Beth and Julia, the final piece to Jordan's fairytale family. Two little girls with straw-blonde hair, twisted into perfect braids that fell over the straps of their Sunday School dresses, watching the world with wide blue eyes that barely blinked. And the odd part was that they were the only part of the family that Dallon got along with.

"They're staying at grandpa's. So, you jumped off a stage?" Jordan raised his eyebrows, wearing a stupidly chummy grin. This was where Jordan began to pick apart at Dallon's alibi, before he'd swoop in and boost his reputation with a story about saving a kid with heart cancer, or some other bullshit like that.

"Why don't you go jump off a stage?" Dallon returned Jordan's smile before scowling back, aggravation crawling up his spine. Dallon wanted Jordan to argue back like a child, but all he did was smile and offer to help their mother with dinner, leaving Dallon in the corner of the kitchen with nothing but a pasty cast and sour thoughts.

That was how dinner went every week; Dallon would try to push Jordan's buttons in hopes of getting a reaction, a bite, anything that would lower him to the same level of maturity as Dallon, but he never fought back. No, he was too righteous to ever fight with his fiery younger brother.

One of these days he'd break Jordan's stupid mask of friendliness and make him angry. One of these days.

One very awkwardly silent dinner later, and Dallon was back on the bus home, checking his phone for any new texts from Ryan. He'd gone all dinner without checking, and the anticipation was grueling, wondering if Ryan had sent him something else. Heck, Ryan was all Dallon could think about during dinner; while Jordan rambled on about some new experimental drug, Dallon was back in that apartment, sitting between the two chaotic roommates and staring directly into Ryan's deep-set eyes.

One new message.

RYAN♡: how'd dinner go?

It went surprisingly well, to Dallon's standards. His mother must have caught the hint about not wanting to talk about his injury, so most of the conversation at the dinner table was spent on Jordan and Marie, and what perfect little angels their two daughters were. Dallon had escaped there as quickly as he could before he was roped into playing a board game with them, which was the worst punishment anyone could withstand.

Even the most boring of adults didn't play board games. But there his parents were, huddled over the coffee table in the living room playing snakes and ladders. No card games were allowed on board game night, ("Gambling is the devil's disease"), Yahtzee and Clue were ruled out, ("Murder isn't something that we make a game out of"), and anything modern was considered trash, so they were left with playing scrabble with musty old tiles that had half the letters scratched off.

DALLON: It went alright. Mormon parents can be kind of pushy though.

RYAN♡: that sucks :( if it makes you feel any better im stuck at work

Dallon still couldn't get over how cute Ryan's text messages were. Cute cute cute. It seemed all Dallon could think about was how cute Ryan was. Not that he was complaining.

It was impossible for Dallon not to think of Ryan during dinner. After all, Ryan had been the only thing on his mind every since the first time they locked eyes, when Dallon's entire world was skewed and turned a bright hue of pink.

He didn't like being that obsessive, he really didn't, but it wasn't like Ryan gave him very much to work with. Heck, this was Dallon's first real boy crush, and other than their flirty texts, Dallon didn't get to see Ryan very often. The difference in their schedules was unfortunate—Ryan was constantly at school, or at work, or practicing drums, while Dallon struggled to find ways to keep himself busy on the days without performances—but Dallon was too grateful for the two interactions they'd shared in real life to complain.

Besides, Dallon was gifted with an overactive imagination, so it wasn't like he couldn't dream of all the future dates they'd have. Dallon's favourite dream date was the one where they'd get caught in the rain downtown, holding hands as they dashed into the first open store they'd see, a cozy little coffee shop. And although they'd be soaked to the bone, clothes dripping with rainwater, hair clinging to their foreheads, Dallon would be kept warm by the overwhelming love in his heart for Ryan.

Oh, that dream made Dallon's heart ache for better days, one where he'd be able to see Ryan as much as he wanted. One where he'd be able to kiss Ryan without getting all sweaty, where Dallon would finally find his voice to tell Ryan just how much he meant to him even though they'd basically just met.

Hah, like that would ever happen. Dallon could barely talk to Ryan over text, let alone face to face.

The screech of the bus breaks knocked Dallon out of his daydream, crutches falling to the ground from where they were precariously balanced on the seat thanks to the momentum. A sigh was unearthed from Dallon's chest, leaning down to pick them up and stand them against the scratched plastic of the seats. But someone else's hand was reaching for them too, brushing against Dallon's. A familiar hand.

Dallon looked up, heart leaping into his throat when his eyes met with a dark brown pair.

"Need some help?" Ryan was bending down in front of him, lips spread into a wide smile. Dallon gawked at him, awestruck at his sudden appearance on the bus, especially since Dallon was just picturing what he'd do if Ryan was here with him.

"How- how'd you get here from the hospital?" Dallon squeaked, all the blood rushing to his face when Ryan pressed a quick kiss to his forehead and took a seat next to him. The lights of the bus flickered as it started to move again, thrusting the two of them together, shoulders bashing.

Ryan laughed as he fell onto Dallon's lap, but Dallon froze, unsure what to do. His face was as red as the traffic light outside, sweating buckets onto the scraggly fuzz of the bus seats while Ryan picked up Dallon's crutches and laid them on the seats next to them.

"I was never at the hospital, I was just waiting for you to get on." Ryan smiled, cheeks glowing under the fluorescent lights as he smoothed down the arm of Dallon's jacket.

Ryan. Hand. On him. Too much for Dallon's brain to handle.

"You- you waited for me? On the bus?" Dallon said, all his breath stolen when Ryan scooted closer to him. Oh gosh, this was the gay bar all over again—he was getting more hot and bothered by the minute, unable to process how close Ryan was sitting to him. Or how good he smelled. Or how fluffy his hair was tonight, falling over his dimpled face as he tilted his head. Oh, how Dallon wanted to run his hands through Ryan's hair.

Ryan nodded, taking Dallon's damp palm into his own and only rendering Dallon more speechless.

Holding hands. Awgh. It was so sweet that Dallon's heart was going to barf.

"Oh... h-hands..." Dallon whispered, staring down at their entwined hands, bright against the navy backdrop of the bus seat. He didn't want to think about how many people had sat there before, just as he didn't want to think about how many people had held Ryan's hand like this before. Or how many people had kissed Ryan's lips.

"Mhm, hands," Ryan answered, smirk deepening at Dallon's dumbfound face. With a tiny chuckle, Ryan brought the clasped hands to his mouth, pressing his lips against the back of Dallon's hand and leaving them there.

Dallon didn't think about how Ryan could probably taste the sweat on his skin. Dallon couldn't think. Dallon couldn't breathe.

Ryan's eyes locked with Dallon's, peering directly into his soul as he squeezed Dallon's fingers, lips still on his hand. The static noise of the bus had muted, the entire world melting down into nothing around them, like nobody existed except Dallon and the beautiful boy kissing his hand. And if you had asked Dallon right then and there if anything else existed, Dallon wouldn't have heard you, brain blocking out everything else except for the pools of chocolate in Ryan's eyes.

Ah. His lips were as soft as a velvet pillow, holding Dallon's hand so gently you would've though his bones were made of toothpicks, ready to collapse at any moment. And that kiss dragged on forever, time suspended in a thick goo, like a sludge that would never unstick itself from Dallon's mind. Ryan could've been kissing him for one second or for hours on end, but Dallon wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

Ryan finally pulled his mouth away, a little shadow forming beneath his lower lip as he grinned and leaned into Dallon. "Do I make you nervous?"

"Uh... uh huh..." Dallon nodded, jaw hanging like it had disconnected from his face. To say that Ryan made Dallon nervous would be an understatement.

Ryan made Dallon _dumb_. Especially when he was as effortlessly charming as he was right now.

"Welcome to introduction to kissing 101." Ryan's tone was feathery, dancing off of Dallon's eardrums as the bus stopped again. In the sudden heatwave of the moment, Dallon couldn't remember if they'd passed his stop, but that didn't matter. He never wanted to get off of this bus again if it meant he could sit this close to Ryan forever.

"Wh... introduction to kissing?" Dallon asked, eyes shifting around the bus to make sure nobody he knew was around. The only other person was sitting at the back on their phone, listening to music and completely ignoring the two of them.

"Mhm, and I'll be your professor. That is, if you're up to coming over tonight." Ryan's eyes twinkled like the brightest jewel in the crown of the night sky, lips curled gorgeously as he placed his other hand over Dallon's. His hands were coarse against Dallon's skeletal ones, palm brushing against the knobs of Dallon's knuckles like the rough tongue of a cat.

Oh gosh, not the word tongue. Not now. Dallon's mind was trapped in a loop, flashing between his quaint daydreams, his hotter thoughts, and the shocking reality that was unfolding in front of him right now.

"Yes. Please." Dallon answered quickly, studying the scruff that dotted Ryan's soft jaw. He hoped he hadn't come off too needy, but Dallon didn't know why he was trying to fool anyone at this point. He _was_ needy.

Could tonight be the night that he....?

No. Dallon wasn't ready for that. Kissing was one thing, but losing his virginity was another, especially before marriage. That was one of the big rules in his community, besides not marrying someone of the same gender or a different race. He didn't know what the church had against people loving who they loved, but Dallon couldn't say that he was satisfied with those rules.

But Dallon also wasn't ready to confess to Ryan that he was a virgin. Sure, most people in his situation hadn't lost theirs either, but they were straight and waiting for a woman to come along so they could marry her. Meanwhile, Dallon was waiting for some hunk to show him his junk.

Maybe Dallon shouldn't wait so much late night reality television when he couldn't sleep.

Instead of the lovestruck panic Dallon's mind was just wading in, he was now panicked for an entirely different reason, worried that the truth would have to slip out. The problem was, Dallon didn't know what type of lesson tonight would entail. Sure, it was fun to dream of all the things that could be, but now that Dallon was living through those dreams, he was anxious about too many things to count.

What if Ryan expected something more of him? What if Ryan expected them to have sex tonight? What if Dallon messed up kissing?

What if he had to tell Ryan to stop?

No, this wasn't how Dallon had pictured this going at all. He realized that he was still sitting next to Ryan in uncomfortable silence, and that neither of them had talked in a good couple minutes, and that Ryan was looking at him with that gentle look of amusement again.

"Um, what exactly is the... uh... syllabus for this class?" Dallon tripped through his sentence, unable to meet Ryan's prodding eyes. He swallowed hard as soon as he was finished talking, but he couldn't gulp down the lump in his throat, sitting there like a jagged rock of anxiety.

But Ryan's eyes only widened in surprise at Dallon's words, before they were back to crinkling with his smile. "Well, dinner is included, along with a movie and a warm bed if you feel like spending the night. And there's no pressure to do anything you don't want, you just let me know, okay?"

Okay. That was good. This was fine. As long as Ryan knew that there were some boundaries Dallon didn't want to cross, Dallon could relax and enjoy a date with the man he loved.

Woah. The L word. Dallon was sure that he loved Ryan, but this was all so quick—they hadn't even had a formal date yet. Heck, Dallon didn't even know if they were considered boyfriends. Did friends kiss each other and make flirty comments through texts?

Dallon wouldn't know. His only friends had been the Brobecks, and as much as he loved them, they weren't really the pillars of being comfortable enough with their own masculinity to express any real emotions.

The bus jolted to a stop again, and this time it was Dallon who got toppled over, landing with his hand on Ryan's leg.

Uh oh.

"Sorry! Ack, I'm- I'm sorry," Dallon yanked his hand away, trying not to think about how Ryan's thigh felt in skinny jeans. Fuck, why did he have to be his most awkward around Ryan?

"Hey, don't worry," Ryan rested his hand on Dallon's shoulder, slowly bringing it up his burning neck to cup Dallon's jaw. "You don't need to be nervous around me, okay? I really like you, and I like how cute you get when you're flustered, but I don't want you to worry when you're around me."

Dallon's searched Ryan's voice for anger, or disappointment, or just frustration in general. But all he found was a gentle firmness, just demanding enough to let Dallon know he was being serious.

He was taken back by Ryan's sudden solemnity, closing his jaw quickly and swallowing down the thick gauze that filled his throat. It wasn't that Dallon didn't like the strength of Ryan's voice—no, that made Dallon's stomach tingle in a weird type of way—but he didn't know how to react to Ryan's words.

"O-Oh, okay... uh, sorry." Dallon's hand shot to the back of his neck, scratching his nails against the sweaty skin at his nape. His hair clung to his neck like he was hiding a rainforest beneath his collar, drops of sweat bleeding through the thickness of his Henley. Fuck, had he been sweating that much this entire time?

Based on the few episodes of the Bachelor Dallon had seen, people were usually satisfied with men lathered in shininess. The only issue was, those men were hard and muscular, while Dallon was just hard and wimpy.

"Mm, you're lucky you're so cute." Ryan leaned in, softly pushing his lips into Dallon's in a slow kiss, hand snaking up the back of Dallon's damp neck. Thankfully, Ryan didn't mention the humidity under Dallon's clothes, pressing his lips a little harder.

Dallon made a small noise of surprise when Ryan's tongue darted out, giving the seam of his lips little licks. His mind was racing as fast as the bus was driving, trying to take in the miracle that was happening to his mouth as Ryan kissed him a little more forcefully, hand tightening on the back of Dallon's neck. It wasn't meant to choke Dallon—no, it was more of a firm reminder that his hand was there, fingers pressing into Dallon's slick skin as they gravitated closer on the bus seats.

Dallon was melting like warm honey under Ryan's touch, gasping for air once he pulled away. In the deepest, darkest part of Dallon's soul, he wanted to whine in protest of Ryan breaking up their kiss, but Dallon was silent, chest rising and falling as he tried to remember how normal people breathed.

"Oh..." Was the only word Dallon could get out, eating up the gleam of the bus lights in Ryan's eyes. The whole world came rushing back to him, including the thoughts of his family and what would happen if someone he knew had just seen him being kissed by a cute guy. Dallon's height made him pretty easy to pick out in a crowd, and his crutches were hard to miss these days.

"Oh my god..." Dallon whispered, head whipping around to make sure no one he knew was standing outside the stopped bus. It took his eyes some time to adjust to the darkness outside, but when they did, Dallon realized that he had no idea what part of town they were in.

Dallon wanted to believe he had a life outside his family and the Brobecks, but the truth was that he didn't exactly venture outside the limits of his apartment building in his free time. Even his trips to the grocery store were obstructed by his own anxiety of running into his family, being caught red-handed with a cart full of junk, wearing a shirt with a collar that wasn't entirely done up. Ever since that night at the bar, Dallon had stopped buttoning up the top button of his shirts, remembering Ryan's mischievous grin as his thumbs brushed over his Adam's apple.

Maybe Dallon kept his collar ruffled in protest of the high collars he was forced to wear up until moving out... or maybe he just kept it unbuttoned in hopes that Ryan would touch his neck again.

And tonight, his wish had come true. Although, Dallon was too distressed about someone recognizing him being tongued down by a twink to be able to relish in the ghost of Ryan's fingers on the back of his neck.

"What's wrong?" A crease appeared between Ryan's brows, leaning away from Dallon like his anxiety was contagious. What had just been an expression of warm sunshine on Ryan's face was now an overcast grey, pulling his hand away from Dallon's shoulders.

"Ah... uh..." Dallon's breaths started to tear in half, like a silk rag snagging on a knife. His voice was the only thing Dallon had every prided himself on, the one thing his parents had never had any control over. Even when he was locked in his room and forced to study bible passages until his fingers ached with pencil blisters, Dallon could still hum the tunes he heard in the grocery store under his breath, making up his own words along the way.

But now, as Dallon's mind somehow leaked out of his ears and into a mushy puddle on the floor, he couldn't find his voice to tell Ryan about his family.

Dallon had had some pretty big meltdowns over the years, but this one definitely made his top ten list. It seemed that all his worries decided to ambush him right after the best moment of his life—when Ryan kissed him, tongue and all—and now, Dallon had forgotten how to behave like a normal human being.

"I'm... it's okay, I just- I- I don't know if this is something I'm allowed to do," Dallon's hands slipped around the metal bars of his crutches, leaving shiny marks in their path as they clacked over the tiles of the bus floor. "I... I've never k-kissed anyone in... in public. I mean- I've never kissed anyone _ever_ like that..."

The creases lining Ryan's face melted away, revealing all his soft features once again, untarnished by worry or concern. He gently placed his hand on top of Dallon's trembling one, wrapping his strong fingers around Dallon's nimble ones.

"Hey, we don't have to do that again if you don't want to. We don't have to make anything of us if you're not comfortable, alright? We can both forget all of this." Ryan said, eyes flitting back and forth between Dallon and the neon yellow bar in front of them. The bus was rocking them softly, like a rust-laden cradle from the mother of the wind outside, bones creaking beneath them as it rounded a corner into the deeper part of town.

Ryan's words were firm again, but kind and reassuring in the best way. No one had ever talked to Dallon like that, like they were both responsible adults who sat at the same level of power, where Ryan actually _cared_ about Dallon. No one ever treated Dallon like an adult. No one ever really treated Dallon like they cared.

"Yeah, yeah, I- I think it's fine-" Dallon caught his breath, letting his chest collapse and his shoulders fold over themselves. There were so many different thoughts swirling through Dallon's head, but most of them were about what the consequences would be if someone had seen him kiss Ryan, second to all the things he'd be thinking about later that night if he was still alive to think them.

Because if anyone saw Dallon be kissed like _that_ , he was as good as dead.

"I just... my family wouldn't really... uh... allow this..." Dallon was regaining more and more of his breath, letting it filter out of him slowly before filling his lungs again. "I-I'm sorry for being weird, I'm just not good with... kissing. And I'm not good at handling new things, and... and..."

What did Dallon really want to say to Ryan?

Right now, as his hormones were flying off the chart, and every sexual thought he'd suppressed during his teenage years was resurfacing, there was only one thing on Dallon's mind.

"-and pleasekissmeagain." Dallon squeaked, squeezing his legs together before his crutches fell again.

All he saw before Ryan's eyes was a blink of light, and then that warmth was on his lips again, hand slid back up Dallon's nape. This time, he opened his mouth for Ryan to slip his tongue into, but it didn't delve very far. Ryan simply swiped his tongue over the inside of Dallon's lower lip, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smug grin as a tiny noise fell past his lips.

Dallon couldn't care who was seeing him then. He couldn't think about anything but Ryan's lips on his, his hand resting on the back of Dallon's neck, softly groaning into Dallon's open mouth.

Oh, Dallon wanted to record those groans and play them as he was about to fall asleep. And as much as sirens were screaming in his ear at the fact that he was kissing another guy, all Dallon could focus on was the flutter of Ryan's eyelashes as he closed his eyes.

Oops. Was Dallon supposed to close his eyes while kissing?

But he didn't want to close his eyes. If Dallon closed his eyes, then he wouldn't be able to see the delicacy of Ryan's eyelids, or the shine that inhabited the folds of his eyes like glittery eyeshadow. But there wasn't any eyeshadow; no, Ryan was just that magical.

The squeak of the bus breaks knocked Dallon out of his trance, breaking away from Ryan and wiping his mouth with the back of his shirt. The redness of Ryan's lips made Dallon's heart jump, letting all his worries about his parents fly out the open bus window, replacing them with new memories of Ryan's lips.

"Mmh, I think you've improved already," Ryan sighed, standing up and lending Dallon a callused hand. He took it breathlessly, too enamoured with Ryan to feel anything else, mind flickering through thoughts like a broken lightbulb.

Ryan said he'd gotten better. _Ryan liked the way he kissed_. And now, as Dallon clunked off the bus, Ryan was holding his hand again.

Dallon's legs nearly gave out beneath him.

"R-Ryan, is- did I do okay?" Dallon tripped over his feet, just as he tripped over his words. Ryan was guiding him up the street, wind pushing his caramel-crusted hair across his face, shadows and lights splashed on both of them.

This was the darker part of town, the part that Dallon usually avoided and the part that the Brobecks loved to drink in. He was sure he'd played down here a couple of times, but Dallon had evacuated the premises as quickly as he could, escaping back to the cozy nest of his one-room apartment where he could drink his hot chocolate and read Harry Potter in peace.

But Ryan seemed to know exactly where he was going, a sure spring in his step while Dallon's shoe scuffed against the pavement with every step. Ryan's hand had loosened around Dallon's wrist, but the way it rubbed against Dallon's skin made him shiver, and not just because the jaws of fall were on the horizon. The leaves hadn't turned crisp just yet, but the air bit at the tip of Dallon's nose, painting the knobs of his body a rosy red. On other people, it was cute, but on Dallon, it made him look like a weird voodoo doll.

"Of course, you were great!" Ryan looked both ways before crossing the street with Dallon, a cheerfulness in his voice that made Dallon beam proudly.

Ryan thought he was great at kissing. Dallon. Great at kissing. The same Dallon who cried every time he got a paper cut, and who couldn't stand up to his family when they shoved him into a label that wasn't him, and hadn't ever kissed anyone before.

No, Ryan thought he was great at kissing. And Dallon had never craved someone's approval more.

"Where are we going?" Dallon was a few steps behind Ryan, awkwardly swinging along on his crutches, mindful of the dips in the sidewalk. They had passed bars with music seeping out of their cracks, boarded-up shops that hadn't seen the light of business for years, and quaint Chinese restaurants with little Asian mothers keeping watch over their counters of pastries and delicacies, but they hadn't stopped at any of them, much to Dallon's disappointment. Right now, his stomach was as good as bottomless, even though he'd just stuffed himself with as much baked potato as he could before he burst at the seams. His mother's cooking wasn't only bland, but also empty—Dallon would've been better off eating a big helping of air.

"My apartment, silly." Ryan giggled, slowing down a bit to let Dallon catch up. "By the way, how has your foot been? Taking your pills?"

Dallon nodded, eyes adjusting to the greys and blacks of the streets around him, taking in the crumbled stone and pride flags hanging off of balconies. Memories of seeing beer cans in grass started to resurface in Dallon's mind, before he realized that they were headed towards Ryan's apartment block again. He was still a bit dumb from Ryan's kisses, like they were laced with mind-numbing anesthesia instead of Ryan's saliva.

Who was Dallon kidding? He'd only passed highschool thanks to his good manners and his shameless ass-kissing towards the strictest of teachers. Meanwhile, Ryan was probably passing nursing school with flying colours.

"It's okay, I mean... people are nicer now that I'm in crutches, which is nice." Dallon gave Ryan a small smile, another shiver passing from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes inside his worn-out sneakers. If Dallon had more money and more confidence, he would've bought those cool combat boots that made him feel powerful, but he couldn't even imagine showing up to family dinner wearing those. There was no doubt that Jordan would crack a joke about him being shipped off overseas, and his mother would ask him if he was joining a gang. Over a pair of boots. A plain pair of black boots.

That's why Dallon was wearing a navy Henley and jeans that were loose enough to hide his legs, but tight enough so his mother wouldn't pop the gang question. He hadn't bothered to try to tame the beast of his hair, but now, as they neared Ryan's well-lit apartment building, Dallon couldn't help but smooth down the wayward spikes that fell into his eyes.

"Ah, yeah, be careful though. One wrong move, and grandmothers start buying your groceries for you, and then you're stuck with butter cookies and porridge in your fridge for ages." Ryan chuckled, hand tightening around Dallon's wrist as he skipped up the front stairs of the apartment. It took Dallon a few minutes, but eventually he joined Ryan at the door, letting a light laugh float off his chest.

Ryan was funny. And Dallon wanted to kiss him again.

Gosh, Dallon's mind was off the wire tonight. It wasn't like him to be so romantically and sexually infatuated with someone, but Dallon's body liked Ryan's body. A lot. Was that bad? Or was this just how normal people experienced attraction?

Ever since he gained sentience, it seemed Dallon's parents had tried to push that part out of him, the part that experienced love and hormones like every other human being. He could still remember the teachings he'd have to recite after dinner, about following all the Word of Wisdom rules, which basically hailed abstinence until marriage. So the idea of sex had never really been a big idea in Dallon's mind; sure, he was conscious of it, and sometimes he got curious and would fight the urge to google something incriminating, but he never dared go past those risky thoughts.

But tonight... something was different. No, Dallon was _attracted_ to Ryan, and this wasn't just senseless puppy love. It was magnetic, like Dallon's eyes were pulled to Ryan's torso as they entered the elevator, ogling his chest through his tightly-pulled button up, every dive in bone structure visible. Part of Dallon wanted to think that Ryan were shirts as tight as that just for him, even if that was most likely facetious.

"S-So... what's for dinner?" Dallon tried to make conversation, listening to the groan of the metal mechanism around them. He could barely stand being in Ryan's presence, eating up the sly, side-eyed glances he was given when the conversation lulled.

"Well, Awsten probably ordered sushi, and Remington's probably opened a bottle of whiskey, but I don't advise on drinking again." Ryan winked, eyes sparkling with that white energy. "I never thought that a shy missionary like you would be such a sloppy drunk."

Asshole. Dallon couldn't stop the smile from crossing his face, but he still nudged Ryan in the leg with his crutch.

"Shut up." Dallon said quietly, glowing with embarrassment, but the good type of embarrassment. The type that made his face bloom with a flustered pink, cheeks burning from a wonderful shamefulness that was comfortable enough to not be awkward. Sure, he was always awkward around Ryan, but the easy-going attitude of their conversations let the weird moments slide by easily.

Ryan shifted his weight from foot to foot shyly, a bright red dusting his cheekbones. Dallon was taken back by the sudden change in tone, wondering why Ryan had gone so quiet.

"Make me." He said under his breath, so quietly Dallon could barely hear it. But he heard it.

Oh gosh, he heard it.

"Oh." Dallon let a gasp slip past his lips, sweat making a reappearance after its spectacle on the bus. Sure, he didn't know a lot about guys and love and gay stuff, but he knew a request to be kissed when he heard one.

If only he wasn't rooted to the ground, frozen in place like his skin had hardened into stone, ice water running through his veins. Dallon couldn't breathe once again, so many images flashing through his mind he was dizzy.

Ryan. Kissing him. No, Dallon kissing Ryan. Making him be quiet with his tongue. Pushed against the panel wall of the elevator, elbows resting on the metal handle as their hands gripped each other. Warm and wet and oh so _wrong_ , but still so right at the same time-

And then, Dallon's frantic internal ramble was interrupted by the interlude of Ryan's lips, giving him a soft peck and gently pulling him out of the elevator. Dallon was still starstruck, watching numbly as Ryan opened the unlocked apartment door, eyes glazing over the sea of neon sticky notes attached to the wood.

In fact, Dallon was so speechless he didn't notice the new drawing, plastered right in the middle. It was of a certain bassist, lying facedown on a floor, ankle twisted in the most horrendous way possible.

Whoever the anonymous artist of those sticky notes was had gotten hold of a photo of Dallon, the most cursed one to date. The one that made him look like a bumbling idiot, unconscious body surrounded by shiny pairs of shoes that only looked onwards and giggled.

"Hey, Dallon!" Awsten called from the couch when Dallon stepped inside, waving wildly to catch his attention. "What's up?"

Him and Remington were perched on the couch side by side, coffee table covered in open cartons of exotic food Dallon had never seen before, watching something on the TV. Remington's sleeping bag had been cast aside to the corner of the room, right below the Danny DeVito cutout, along with all the fashion magazines and half-empty containers of makeup.

The show they were watching was unfamiliar to Dallon, one with bland scenery and a bunch of men and women in suits. Based on Awsten and Remington's half-chuckles at some parts, Dallon assumed it was a comedy, even though he didn't get any of the jokes.

Not getting the joke wasn't anything new for Dallon. The joke had flown over his head more times than the sun had risen and sunk, leaving him clueless while everyone around him snickered at his expense in a secretive understanding. It was humiliating, to be so horribly clueless all the time, but after an entire life time of sitting there with a funny smile while everyone else was doubled over, Dallon was used to it.

"What are you watching?" Dallon hobbled his way over to the couch, listening to the clink of Ryan's keys as he set them down on the counter.

Awsten glanced up to Dallon, scooting over to leave a spot for him between Remington and himself. The carton on Awsten's lap nearly toppled over as he moved, yellow rice bejewelled with onions and peas, making Dallon's stomach growl in agony.

"The Office! You've ever seen it?" Awsten helped Dallon sit down between them, sitting more rigid than he had on the bus when Ryan kissed him. At least when Ryan kissed him, Dallon knew whatever he'd do was considered "cute". But sitting between two people Dallon barely knew, people he wanted to impress, could only lead to uncomfortable moments of awkwardness. Not like the cute, funny ones him and Ryan could share without (too much) worry.

Dallon shook his head, letting himself sink back into the couch cushions as Awsten scooted closer. Sitting close must run in the adoptive family of Ryan's apartment trio, seeing as Remington had also sandwiched him in, leaning close enough that Dallon could smell his hair gel and perfume.

It was hard to relax here when Dallon was so tense, waiting for himself to mess up, like knocking over his crutches or saying something wrong. With the Brobecks, Dallon didn't have to worry about embarrassing himself; they were all dorks who couldn't get girls, and the rest of them didn't have an excuse like Dallon did. But Awsten and Remington were so different; they knew so many things that Dallon didn't, and they were funny, and cool, and everything Dallon had wished he was.

But as soon as Ryan approached the couch, Dallon's worries melted, watching him against the backdrop of the television. He was too busy watching Ryan to see what was happening on the TV, losing his breath when Ryan sat down on the floor between Dallon's legs, resting his head against Dallon's knees.

Oh.

"Whaaaat? You've never seen The Office?" Ryan chirped, wearing a goofy grin as he grabbed for the mess of cartons on the table in front of them. "By the way, help yourself to anything you see- we have sushi, fried rice, egg rolls-"

"What's sushi?" Dallon interrupted, staring down at the little rolls of rice, seaweed, and fish in front of him. It didn't look bad, but it didn't look... edible.

"You've never had sushi?" Awsten gawked at Dallon, jaw hanging so far open he could see his tonsils in the dimness of the room. Remington was paying more attention to the television than their painful conversation, but he still glanced to Ryan on the floor every few seconds, raising his eyebrows.

"Awsten, calm yourself. Not all of us were blessed with a childhood in Texas." Ryan said, bumping his shoulder into Dallon's healthy leg as he turned around to smile at them. "Sushi is just different combinations of rice, fish and vegetables, wrapped with seaweed most of the time. You should try some!"

"Uh..." Dallon stared down at the roll in front of him, a tender, pink and red-rimmed meat stuffed in the cradle of the seaweed, grains of rice glued together with starch. He was up to trying new things, but... he didn't know if he wanted to eat something so different.

"I'll pay you ten dollars to eat it." Awsten declared, half-giggling to himself.

Remington's head whipped around, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. " _Why_?"

"Because I have ten dollars in my pocket, and I don't want Ryan to barge into my room at four asking if he can borrow change for a coffee." Awsten rolled his eyes, rifling through his oversized hoodie pocket for the bill and slapping it in Dallon's palm. "There! Now you gotta eat it."

"Ignore him Dallon, you don't have to try it, and I'll take that-" Ryan grabbed it out of Dallon's palm, coarse fingers brushing against Dallon's too quickly for him to savour. "-for tomorrow..."

"I'll..." Dallon trailed off, inspecting the piece of sushi once more and letting his smile fade away into his anxiety. It might only be a small piece of food, but Dallon had been taught to fear the unknown his entire life; he'd been taught that anything his parents or the church didn't show him was bad, and wrong, and would hurt him in the end. Of course, Dallon had disproved some of the things he'd been taught, but he couldn't erase every part of his parents from himself.

But wasn't Dallon supposed to try new things? If he couldn't eat a piece of sushi, how was he supposed to ever lose his virginity to a guy? How was he supposed to ever live life to the fullest, supposed to achieve true happiness if he couldn't even eat a new food?

It was a piece of sushi, for crying out loud. And Dallon had discovered that all three of them were staring at him in anticipation, waiting for him to try it, ignoring the television completely by now.

"You don't have to try it, Dallon." Ryan said gently, resting his head on the edge of the couch and looking up at Dallon like a puppy. Oh, his eyes were adorable, sparkling in the darkness of the room like the night sky outside, bedazzled with a million jewels of curiosity. His cheek tightened as he smiled up at Dallon, giving Dallon's knee a quick squeeze, which only flustered the taller man more than he already was.

"No, no... I will." Dallon declared, bringing the carton closer to his face in case he needed to spit it out. He was trying the sushi for himself, but also for the trio, nervous of what Remington and Awsten would think of him if he chickened out and didn't try it. In fact, he probably needed their approval more than he needed Ryan's.

With shaky hands, Dallon brought the roll to his mouth and shoved it all in in one go, chewing hesitantly. His tongue didn't seem to want to come out from its hiding spot near the back of his throat, worried that it would taste bad. But as the roll started to unravel in his mouth, Dallon chewed a little more surely, surprised that it didn't taste bad. Actually, it was... good.

"What do you think?" Remington asked him, head tilted in expectation. The shadows of the room only deepened the rings of makeup around his eyes, like his eye-sockets were hollowed out, and his face was skeletal. Once again, he looked different than anything Dallon had ever seen, but different in the best way possible.

"It's... good." Dallon said, swallowing it down and grinning quietly to himself at his invisible victory. It might not be a big deal to anyone else, but he was proud of himself for trying it, thinking of all the other new things he had yet to try.

Horror movies. Halloween. Porn. Valentine's Day. Speeding. Making out. Sex. Makeup. Parties. Touching another guy's chest.

The list seemed to span on for ages, a bottomless pit of all the so-called "normal" things Dallon had never gotten around to doing. The majority of them excited him, but some of them were terrifying to imagine, mostly because of his parents' response. Being gay was a secret Dallon had kept his entire life, but his parents had a way of finding out everything in the end, as if they had eyes everywhere. They probably _did_ have eyes everywhere, considering how easy it was for his mother to figure out that Dallon had twisted his ankle.

Dallon was reaching for another container of sushi when Ryan's adjusted his head, so that it now rested against the space between Dallon's legs.

_The space between Dallon's legs._

Ryan's head was dangerously close to Dallon's crotch, suddenly focusing all his energy on keeping his dick down. If the other two noticed anything, they didn't mention it, too focused on the television to care anyways. Somebody was lighting a garbage can on fire in the show, which was entertaining by normal standards, but now, Dallon's mind was racing.

Ryan must've known what he was doing when he sat there, right? I mean, there was another empty chair adjacent to the couch, where he would've been more comfortable; so he definitely decided to sit on the floor in front of Dallon, ears brushing against Dallon's knees. Dallon concluded that this was part of the "class", even if Ryan was preoccupied by the scene of the TV, not paying attention to the rosy cloud that crossed Dallon's cheeks.

For a couple of guys that had a lot to say yesterday, they were rather quiet tonight. Maybe it was because of the show on, but nobody seemed to want to talk, the only sounds in the room being the drone of the television and the scrape of plastic as forks were stabbed into styrofoam. Dallon had let his muscles relax a bit more, sitting between Awsten and Remington comfortably enough, glancing down to Ryan's head of hair every few seconds in hopes that he'd turn around to stare at Dallon again.

But Ryan didn't turn around for the entirety of the episode, placing the empty cartons on the coffee table until they were all stacked up, and all food was eaten. Dallon's stomach had admitted defeat and sat silent, finally full for what felt like the first time in forever. Living alone had lead to more unexpected costs than Dallon had anticipated, and it wasn't like the Brobecks raked in a lot of money.

"Thank you for dinner." Dallon said quietly, leaning forward so Ryan could hear him over the television. Ryan finally met his gaze, mouth curving into a soft smile as he stood and collected the empty cartons.

"Thank you for not asking how I knew you were gonna be on the bus." Ryan replied smugly, with a hint of good-natured snide. He bumped Dallon in the shoulder as he passed the couch, but his touch lingered even after he was in the kitchen, opening the garbage can with his foot and dumping the remaining contents of their dinner into it.

Dallon had never questioned exactly how Ryan knew he was on the bus, but it wasn't like Dallon _wanted_ to ask anyways. It was enough to think that Ryan was a magic being, and that simply being around him was enough to turn off the functionality of Dallon's brain, leaving him to follow Ryan like a duckling to its mother.

Thinking of the bus only made Dallon's attention gravitate back to their multiple kisses, wondering when Ryan would give him that lesson he was speaking of. Dinner was done, Remington and Awsten had abandoned the living room to hang out in Awsten's room, and Ryan was cleaning up the kitchen.

Would it be appropriate to ask how to kiss? How was Dallon even supposed to ask that?

"Hi, yeah, I haven't stopped thinking about your tongue or lips or the way you smell since we met, kiss me?"

While the rest of Dallon's awkwardness might have lined up with Ryan's taste in men, he didn't think that little statement would be accepted with a chuckle and a grin. Or was that how everyone normal thought?

Nervously, Dallon ran his hands through his hair and reached in his pocket for a pack of gum, pulling out the little plastic row. He popped a piece out of the tinsel stealthily enough that Ryan didn't hear, humming away to himself as he emptied the leftovers into a container and pushed down on the lid, flexing his arm slightly. Dallon's was lucky that his gum didn't fall out of his mouth at the sight of Ryan's arm.

"You can change the channel, if you want." Ryan called out, and Dallon was suddenly thankful he hadn't seen his reddened face from the kitchen. "I dunno if anything good's on, but we have Netflix too."

Dallon could barely find his voice to answer Ryan, crossing and uncrossing his legs on the couch as he felt Ryan's eyes bore into the back of his head. "Oh, this channel's fine..."

He hadn't been paying much attention to the TV, but how could he? If there was anything Dallon wanted to go home with tonight, it was a lesson on how to kiss better, or maybe even a hickey.

No, that was too far. Dallon had just gotten back from his mother's house, for crying out loud. It wasn't like he'd be able to handle having a hickey anywhere on his body, albeit his neck.

Oh, Ryan's lips on his neck. If Dallon had been anxious before, he was restless now, fidgeting with his hands and gnawing on his mint gum, staring blank-eyed at the screen in front of him. From behind Awsten's door, he heard a muffled laugh, and then the cartoon noise of a video game character dying.

"You fuckin' suck!" Remington's raspy voice was muffled by the door, followed by Awsten's shriek as he no doubt fell off the bed.

"Shutupshutupshutup!" Awsten yelled back, and then Dallon was greeted with the blurred sound of a pillow smacking Remington's face. It made him flinch; mostly because electricity was running through his veins, so terribly on edge that the slightest of sharp sounds was enough to make him jump.

Dallon's mind began to drift into the next lane as commercials flashed onscreen, repeating medical information back at Dallon at an impressive speed.

What if Ryan only invited him over to make out? What if Ryan was _only_ ever gonna invite him over again for... sexual acts? What if he wasn't actually interested in Dallon as a person, and he only wanted Dallon for his body?

Well, the joke was on him—Dallon's body might as well be the definition of the word 'stick'. But Ryan didn't know what was under all those layers of sweat and sweaters, what laid beneath Dallon's outer shell of awkwardness and outdated jeans, and what if he was the type of person who picked up guys at bars?

Ryan didn't look like that type of person, but then again, Dallon didn't look like the type of person he was too. And Ryan was so good at kissing—what else was he good at?

Sex, probably. That thought coaxed Dallon to choke on his own spit, shifting obsessively on the couch as he heard Ryan's footsteps approach him.

Dallon was going to have to tell Ryan eventually that he wasn't the type of person who just wanted to hook up. No, Ryan was so much more than someone Dallon wanted to see naked; he was charming, and sweet, and he made Dallon's heart shiver with an emotion he'd never experienced before. And it was _addicting_ , that voltaic feeling that made his veins rumble with a flitting sheet of light and happiness.

And while Dallon looked forward to kissing, and touching, and whatever came after that, he was also looking forward to the small moments in a relationship. He was looking forward to laughing with Ryan, to meeting him on buses or in bars, to jabbing him with his crutch when he was too cheeky or hugging him from behind while he made them breakfast.

But was Ryan looking forward to that too?

"Hey, uh, Ryan," Dallon tried to coax his voice up from where it was caught in his chest, fiddling with the screw on one side of his crutches. Ryan sat next to him on the couch silently, tipping his head as an invitation for Dallon to keep speaking.

"Um... Would you say that we're..." Dallon moved from twisting the screw to picking at his nails, chest tightening at the feeling of Ryan's bright eyes on the side of his head. If he had more guts, then he'd turn to face Ryan and tell him while staring into those sparkling eyes, but Dallon resorted to staring ahead at the pixels of the television.

"Would you say that we... that we're... uh... d-dating?" Dallon finally spit it out, letting his breath go when he saw Ryan smile out of the corner of his eye.

"Of course! I mean, if you're comfortable with that." Ryan shifted closer to him on the couch, eyes crinkling adorably from his genuine cheerfulness. That was the thing about Ryan that Dallon loved so much; he was a genuine person, who genuinely liked to be around Dallon. And there weren't that many people in Dallon's life who were like that.

"Y-Yes. Please." Dallon added the last part quickly, finally turning his head to meet the night sky of Ryan's eyes. He searched for a familiar mocking that he always found in the Brobecks eyes, but there was nothing but pure acceptance swirling around in his pupils, wide in the darkness of the living room.

"Adorable." Ryan declared, leaning in a bit closer and sliding his hand up Dallon's arm. Before Dallon knew what was happening, Ryan's mouth was on his, softly brushing his lips against Dallon's parted ones.

Wait-

That meant Ryan was Dallon's boyfriend.

And Dallon was kissing his boyfriend.

The realization was astounding, a soft noise leaving Dallon's lips as Ryan cupped the back of his head and deepened the kiss. All the air had left Dallon's lungs, choking on a breath when Ryan's thumb brushed his jaw and tilted his head up, slipping his tongue into Dallon's mouth.

"Oh, oh-" Dallon's noise was lost in Ryan's mouth, drowning in the excitement of kissing him. He didn't have any space in his mind to think about his parents, or his religion, or anything else that might stop him from savouring the way Ryan was softly pushing him into the couch cushions.

An hour ago, Dallon was sweating his ass off because he'd accidentally touched Ryan's thigh, running through every single horrible possibility in his head instead of appreciating the man in front of him. But now, he was melting under Ryan's lips, hyperventilating like an overexcited toddler as Ryan swung his thigh over Dallon's lap.

Dallon might not be good at kissing—he'd froze up, swallowing his gum and panting into Ryan's mouth, eyes propped open so wide they burnt—but Ryan didn't let it show. He had closed his eyes, mouth turning up into a grin as he gently pulled Dallon's head closer into his, tongue never pushing too far for comfort.

Oh, _he was kissing Ryan_. It wasn't like this was their first kiss, but Dallon was still swept off his feet, trying his hardest not to get hard while Ryan's thigh was draped across his lap. It was a hard task, but thankfully, Dallon's body decided to cooperate with him for once.

When Ryan finally pulled away, there was a new glimmer in his eyes, lips swollen with a cherry red and parted in amazement. Dallon didn't know how to take his look of astonishment, letting a smile cross his face naturally.

"That was..." Dallon exhaled, trying to catch his breath.

"Oh god, Dallon... you're so good." Ryan agreed in equal bewilderment, letting go of Dallon's shirt collar. Dallon never realized he'd grabbed it in the first place.

"R-Really?"

"Mhm..." Ryan bite his lip, obviously contemplating something. His eyes dragged down Dallon's body, shooting back up to meet Dallon's silent gaze, holding his breath for what Ryan would say next.

At that moment, Dallon couldn't care less what his parents would think of him, being ogled by his _boyfriend_. Boyfriend. Wow. What a word.

But as long as Ryan was looking at him with that genuine expression, nothing hiding in his eyes except an acceptance and maybe even a hint of love, then Dallon would be okay. The thought of the consequences was still pestering him in the back of his mind, but Dallon brushed it away, saving it for later when he'd have a full blown meltdown.

For now, Dallon was content with sitting on that ratty old couch, gazing back into the comforting darkness of Ryan's eyes and waiting for him to kiss him again. And in that solitary second, Dallon knew he'd be okay.

As long as Ryan never lost that spark of adoration, Dallon would be fine on his own.

Right? After all, how hard was it hiding a boyfriend from your parents?

He was fucked, wasn't he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for my sudden hiatus, but razzmatazz came out and then an early exam season rolled around out of nowhere so i was caught up in that 


	4. aeroplanes in the sky, bring him back to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw this chapter for homophobia (yuck) a smutty scene. kinda a weird combo, but it all works out trust me
> 
> enjoy! <3

Dallon got kisses.

Not a singular kiss. Not a peck on the cheek. Not a quick kiss at a gay bar that left him hanging.

No, Dallon got _deep_ kisses. Ones where the only thing the both of them wanted to do was to kiss, opening mouths to feel tongues and grabbing shirts. Dallon never knew he'd be so enthusiastic about something as simple as kissing, but kissing Ryan on that couch had put him in his best mood in months.

After all, what he'd thought would be an ordinarily terrible night had ended with making out on a couch and a boyfriend. Every thought about religion or family or reputation was miles away, left back at his parents' house with Jordan and his stupidly perfect family. No, tonight Dallon was clinging onto a special type of boldness, the type that gave him a suit of armour and told him that nobody could touch him, not now that he had a significant other. Now, people couldn't poke fun at Dallon for being single his entire life, or for never getting his first kiss, or for getting squirrelly at the mention of anything slightly sexual.

Now, Dallon could brag. Nobody had to know that it was a guy who kissed him; Dallon could evade gender in his future conversations easily enough. But his willpower was weak after years of letting himself be walked over, and Dallon wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep it a secret much longer, especially considering how much Jordan's family life was shoved into his face. How long would it be until Dallon snapped and blurted the news that he had a partner at the dinner table? How long would it be until his mother inevitably caught them in public?

Dallon didn't want to hide his relationship with Ryan from the world. Only meeting behind closed doors seemed like a nightmare, especially considering all the ideas Dallon had for romantic date nights. Years of reading instructional guides on how to date as a Mormon teenager had encouraged Dallon to think outside the box a bit, letting his mind wander past the words on the page.

'A simple walk in the park is an appropriate and innocent way to enjoy time with your partner.'

Dallon would take that innocent sentence from the book his parents had given him, and turn it into daydreams about walking through a park, holding hands and staying close. But eventually, it'd get dark, and they'd have to find shelter at a nearby hotel with room service and a pool. Dallon's daydreams never went further past what would happen after dinner, but it was a dream of his to be in a real hotel, on a real date with a real boyfriend. And maybe all those hours spent daydreaming at his desk had paid off, because now Dallon not only had a real boyfriend but a head full of wonderfully not-so-innocent date ideas.

But he knew that if he ever fulfilled those date ideas, he'd be unable to concentrate on the wonderfulness of his rebellion, keeping his eyes split for any sign of family. While Dallon didn't agree with the majority of his religion's rules, he was still a Mormon at heart, and he still liked to think that his family had one shred of belief in him.

Dallon skipped every second step on his way up to his apartment, smiling profusely and biting his lips in mock modesty. There was something about kissing like that that made Dallon shy, cheeks blooming pink as he clacked down his hallway, doing a makeshift little dance with his crutches when the fervor of the moment would wash over him again.

Ryan, oh Ryan, wherefore are thou Ryan? Dallon felt like a hopeless Juliet, falling in love with the first Romeo he found to the point of giggling at the thought of him. But oh, how childish Ryan made Dallon feel, letting him relive the teenage years he was never allowed to experience.

Dallon's hands trembled as he unlocked his door, mind floating back to the kiss like a magnet, bobbing along his different waves of thought. After the first kiss, Ryan got more handsy, holding onto mostly Dallon's neck and running his thumb up and down Dallon's jaw. The gesture was so gentle, yet so commanding at the same time that Dallon could barely contain himself, sitting there motionlessly and hoping that he wouldn't do something to break the magic of the moment. But that magic never shattered, instead lingering in Dallon's mouth all the way from the apartment to Ryan's car, and back in Ryan's mouth when they kissed goodbye in front of Dallon's apartment.

"Text me when you make it up there." Ryan had said, blooming with a level of friendliness Dallon had never seen before. No, this was more than friendliness; it was romance, with a hint of good-natured teasing.

"I-I will. Text you, I mean. And we can t-text about other stuff too, if you want..." Dallon stammered, mind still broken by Ryan's overbearing charm. All he wanted to do tonight was to change into comfier clothes, make himself a pop-tart in his shitty little toaster, and text Ryan until the sun grew gold and the morning birds grew restless.

"I'd love that," Ryan concluded, blowing Dallon a kiss once he was halfway between the car and the apartment doors. "Say hi to your mom for me!" He yelled with a smirk.

Dallon turned a bright hue of pink, watching Ryan's car disappear around the corner, leaving a good type of emptiness in his chest. It was the kind of hollowness that made Dallon excited for the next encounter, waiting to replace that blank spot in his heart with more and more new memories of Ryan. And until then, Dallon would suffice with his plethora of daydreams and risky thoughts, laying awake at night and fantasizing about being accepted by his parents.

It irked him, the way that he knew those were only fantasies, and would stay as nothing more than fantasies until he came out. Awsten and Remington didn't seem to have any issues with Dallon and Ryan's sexuality; so why did his parents? What separated the two groups, besides years in age and tolerance for new things?

How dull would life be if it wasn't for new experiences and risks? And all of a sudden, Dallon couldn't help but pity his parents, trying to imagine living the way he was raised for his entire life. If it wasn't for the Brobecks, then Dallon would've never met Ryan, would've never been kissed in that gay bar, and would've never had the courage to date another guy.

The idea of what his life would've been like if he never joined the Brobecks was haunting. Blurred days, strung together by promises of a restful afterlife, where he could live in eternal heaven forever; yet all his time on earth would be spent saving himself for something that may never come, benign quiet and cautious and as innocent as the day he was born.

What was the point of any of that if Dallon wasn't truly living life?

As he contemplated these things, Dallon gained a sudden bout of confidence, kicking off his shoes and sitting on the edge of his bed. Kissing Ryan had done more than making Dallon excitable—it had given him a sword, a shield, and a metal chest plate, ready to face whatever ignorance he may need to. And while Dallon wasn't ready to entirely come out to his mother, perhaps writing out the message would be good enough for tonight, even if he never pressed send.

Dallon was glowing with pride as his thumbs flew across the screen of his phone, a hint of dismay growing in his stomach at the thought of what might happen if he hit send. Even if he pitied their sheltered type of life, Dallon still loved his family more than anything, and he wanted them to love him too.

If Dallon's family didn't love him, then who did? Ryan's affection was still up for debate, and it wasn't like the Brobecks exchanged gratitude for one another regularly. The last time one of them had shown that they cared for the other was when they all fist-bumped at the end of a show, exchanging compliments about playing well. Dallon was worried that if he started begging for big displays of gratefulness, then they'd stereotype him as something he wasn't, and that was the last thing Dallon wanted from The Brobecks. Sure, they didn't care if he was gay, but they were straight men; there would only be so much tenderness they could handle before Dallon would undoubtedly cross a line, and a friendship would be ruined forever.

As soon as his thumb hit the period on the last sentence, Dallon admired his paragraph, tiny pixels containing everything he'd ever wanted to say to his family. It was hard to believe something so big could be contained on such a small screen, words almost unreal to him, like this was a dream that wasn't allowed to come true. Never did Dallon think he'd be coming out to his mother like this-

But he wasn't going to hit send. Right?

No. Dallon didn't have the balls to do that. He could go to a gay bar, he could kiss a gay guy, but coming out to his mother crossed a line Dallon wasn't ready to cross. The biggest line of his life, the one that divided everything he'd even known straight down the middle into two different worlds; Ryan's world, and his family's world.

Fuck, that send button was so enticing. Dallon stared at it until his eyes dried up, little black pixels suddenly too big to fit on the phone screen, like as soon as his thumb hit send, a bomb would detonate. Dallon didn't know what would be worse; a bomb, or his parents' reaction.

With a sigh, Dallon let his arm go loose, phone falling to his lap. A whirlwind of conflict was passing through him, mind too exhausted to weigh the good and the bad of both outcomes. Whatever excited buzz he was hanging onto had died off thanks to his indecisiveness, mind weakly trying to reignite the flames of what kissing Ryan was like, giving up after he merely sat there gazing at the wall across from him.

Perhaps there would be a day where Dallon had enough confidence to face his parents, but today wasn't that day. That day might not come for months, heck, maybe a year even, but for some odd reason, Dallon was okay with that.

He had thought his night at the gay bar would turn out to be a disaster, and look what it brought him; a partner, two new friends, a list of dares and a place to go whenever he needed dinner.

Maybe hiding his boyfriend could bring good things too.

At this conclusion, Dallon stood to lock his door, internally groaning at the sound of the couple outside. They had decided to initiate their daily fighting earlier tonight, and conveniently right outside his apartment much to Dallon's dismay. It wasn't every night that they decided that Dallon's door was the one they should make out on, but it was on those nights that Dallon surrendered his sleep and resorted to practicing bass at 2 AM, thumbing his strings along to the tune of two adults dry humping on his apartment door.

The carpeted floor hugged Dallon's bare foot as he hopped his way to the door, room illuminated purely by the moon outside. Less electricity meant fewer bills being sent to his parents' house, and after being kissed by Ryan, Dallon didn't know if he had the strength or willpower to keep the secret. Maybe if he got lucky enough, he could end up in the ER again and miss next week's mass as well.

Disgust bubbled up under Dallon's skin at the obscene smacking noises coming from outside his door, a repeated clunk making the lock jiggle threateningly. He could only hope that they were high-fiving, or kicking the door, or doing something other than humping each other. But based on the noises Dallon was hearing as his fingers clenched the metal lock, he didn't think they were hammering a photo frame onto the wall, rather than hammering into each other.

Before he abandoned his spot by the door, Dallon raised his phone to record a video of them for Ryan, maybe even going as far as adding a caption about them doing that one day. The paragraph to his mother was still sitting in the sender's box, ready to be deployed at any minute like the detonator of a missile, one that would blow Dallon's family life to shreds.

His thumb crossed the screen, going to hit the delete button in the top right corner. But the couple outside decided to slam the door particularly loud, and Dallon's thumb flinched, accidentally pressing send in the process.

_Hey mom, I've wanted to tell you this for a long time but guess what, I'm gay! Yup, and as of tonight, I'm officially dating someone. Heck, here's his phone number so you can make sure he's safe enough for me. Oh, and have fun explaining that to Jordan and dad, I'm sure they'll be overjoyed._

_Your (gay) son, Dallon_

**Delivered 30 seconds ago.**

What.

The.

Fuck.

Had.

He.

Done.

"H-huh?" A tiny sound of confusion was the only noise Dallon could muster, body hardening into stone as the realization of what he'd done set into his mind like icicles, jabbing every good emotion he'd felt tonight like a kebab. A kebab of horror, of shame, and of overbearing guilt that consumed every other thought, like a storm cloud that rolled over the city of his brain.

He had sent his violently Mormon mother the most sarcastic coming-out text humanity had ever seen. At midnight. On a Monday.

And he'd attached Ryan's phone number.

"N-No, no!" Dallon cried to himself, too focused on the terrible sin he'd just committed to notice that the couple outside had stopped their makeout session out of respect for whatever had just died inside Dallon. He was still gawking at the screen in disbelief, trying to wrap his brain around the fact that he'd just sent the most horrifying text of his life to his mother.

No.

_No._

There had to be some way to delete it before she saw it, right? But while Dallon wasn't the most technologically advanced individual, he still knew that deleting the text would do nothing on her side of the phone, blue paragraph sitting there in all its gay glory for her to read tomorrow morning.

A long, high-pitched whimper was drawn from Dallon's throat, a sound he didn't recognize. He didn't even notice that tears were spilling down his face until one landed on the phone screen, pixels distorting his horrible words underneath his teardrop, magnifying them as if his own tears were mocking his mistake.

_'Look, look what you sent!'_ They sneered like a slimy little shoulder-devil, a laugh as high-pitched as Dallon's cry echoing around his cranium. _'Oo, oo, what will Jordan think of this one when he hears about it? By this rate, your photo will be so dusty that no one will be able to see your face anymore, that is, if your parents haven't taken it down by now.'_

Dallon's internal devil only made his cries strengthen, trying his hardest to blink away his tears so he could see his phone screen as he googled how to un-send text messages. When Google revealed that there was no possible way, Dallon's whimpers doubled, biting his lip and hyperventilating through his teeth.

What was he supposed to do now that the secret was out, and there was no turning back? As much as he didn't like to admit it, Dallon's religion was a huge part of his identity, and letting it all be ripped away from him all over one silly text was excruciating to think about. Of course, he wouldn't be excommunicated immediately; no, he'd have to be put through a church trial, where his sexuality would be hung from every banister for all to see. And when every pair of eyes was set upon Dallon, eyes that had once looked at him with hope and kindness, his sin would be spoken for all to hear;

The gay Mormon boy. That's what he'd be known as from now on. Dallon would be banished from the only community he'd ever known in a heartbeat, all because he wanted to pursue a life with someone that he truly loved, someone that brought him the happiness he was promised in the afterlife. Ryan brought Dallon a heaven on earth, and instead of waiting around to get into some heaven he'd never seen, Dallon decided to seize his chance at happiness.

And this is where it had brought him to—sitting on his bedroom floor, choking on his own whines as he reread the paragraph over and over again, mind zipping through all the different responses he'd get. Dallon didn't even want to think about what his mother would have to say about Jesus's opinion, or which level of hell he was going to, or how much of a disappointing son he was. Dallon had heard it all, time and time again, when his parents would decide that it was time for another speech about God's plan for marriage.

Dallon could remember the first time he'd heard his parents speak about other sexualities clear as day; it was craft day at school, and Dallon, being the creative kid he was, decided to draw a rainbow on the tacky white shirt he was given. While other kids drew race cars or flowers or cats, Dallon was content with his six lines of colour, adorned by two fluffy white clouds at the end.

"My, that's a very joyful rainbow Dallon," His teacher had praised, and Dallon remembered the light that had shone through his smile then, beaming with pride at his artistic creation. It wasn't every day that Dallon was noticed in class, and being an attention-seeking second grader, Dallon thrived off of every compliment he could get. Especially when Jordan was in the class next door, amazing teachers with his ability to recite the table of elements at age 11, while Dallon was stuck with his whimsy arts and crafts.

That had been one of the rare times where Dallon was actually proud of something he'd created, something original that no one else had done. In fact, he was so proud that he wore the shirt home, confused as to why his mother was silent in the car ride from the school to their house.

"What's wrong?" Dallon piped up from the back seat, meeting his mother's poorly-hid glare in the mirror. The sudden harshness made his heart shrink away in his ribcage, looking down at his haphazardly-tied shoes, shame crawling up the back of his neck and settling down in his tightened chest.

Did he do something wrong? Why was she giving him such a nasty look from the front seat?

The car sat in uncomfortable silence until they got home, when his mother turned around to glower at him in full intensity.

"Dallon James Weekes, what on earth are you wearing?"

Dallon had begun to sweat, pressing himself against the back seat of the car and wishing he could melt into the cushy vinyl, cowering away under his mother's scowl. Getting in trouble was a regular occurrence for Dallon, but he always knew the reason for his mother's scolding, unlike this time. This time, Dallon had walked out of school expecting to be praised for his work, and instead was getting berated.

The scolding in the car was followed with a lesson in the house, about how rainbows were a sign of sin, and marriage was only allowed between a man and a woman. Dallon was eight; how was he supposed to think about marriage, let alone the concept of marrying a man?

That had been the first time Dallon learned that other types of marriage existed, and that boys could like boys. His parents had been trying to warn him about the consequences of wearing a rainbow shirt, but instead, they'd merely opened Dallon's mind to the idea of marrying a man. It was ironic to think about, especially now; his parents had been trying to drill homophobia into his mind, but they'd done the exact opposite, opening Dallon's mind to the idea of _not_ eloping with a woman.

Present-day Dallon's cries had slowed, playing with his lip anxiously as he let his phone fall out of his relaxed palm and onto the carpet. The world hadn't entirely collapsed around him, but it was fragile, trembling and threatening to shatter into a million pieces around him, littering the carpeted floor like tiny shards of glass.

A wave of numbness washed over Dallon, pins and needles leaving his skin cold to the touch, like he had frozen solid into an ice statue. It sure felt that way, staring blankly at his phone, wondering if he could get away with smashing it. No, it was Dallon's only means of communication with Ryan, unless he magically appeared out of nowhere once again. Heck, right now, Dallon could use one of Ryan's inexplicable appearances right now, and maybe a big hug too.

Yeah, he could use a hug right now. A Ryan hug, with strong arms wrapped around him, a cocoon of warmth and reassurance that would ease Dallon's heart into a more stable snugness. The world could be shattering into smithereens around Dallon, but even though a Ryan hug wouldn't fix everything, it would at least distract Dallon.

But Ryan wasn't here; and even if he was, it wasn't like he would understand. Ryan had never dealt with the overwhelming guilt of going against everything he'd ever known. Ryan had never feared for his future thanks to his sexuality.

Ryan had never had to deal with a family as overbearingly orthodox as Dallon's. And at that moment, Dallon didn't know which family he'd prefer more; his own, or a dead one.

At least Ryan didn't have to worry about disappointing anyone, or being the best son, or being banished from the only community he'd known.

At least Ryan had a solid job, a stable place to live, and friends who would have his back no matter what. Compared to Dallon, The Brobecks might as well be homeless—it wasn't like he could crash at any of their houses, especially considering that they all lived with their parents.

If there was anything Dallon needed less of, it was parents.

Dallon glared at his phone until his eyesight grew fuzzy, like someone had smeared butter across his glasses. His tired mind was clinging onto its last hints of agony, still searching for a way out of whatever storm would follow the text tomorrow morning.

Was there any possible way he could avoid it? A haircut, a tattoo, plastic surgery? A name change? No, Dallon wouldn't do well as a Dylan.

If Dallon had learned anything about himself, it was that the more he panicked, the deeper he would dig himself into his hole of misery. As much as he wanted to take action immediately and guarantee that his excruciatingly sarcastic text message would be removed from existence, the rational part of Dallon knew that there was nothing he could do but brace himself for the flurry of phone calls and nasty texts that would follow tomorrow morning.

With a heavy chest and a weak little sigh, Dallon picked himself up off the ground and trudged over to his bed, taking a long blink and letting his final tears roll down his cheeks as he slid off his pants. Tomorrow was going to be unbearable, even worse than the hell his parents swore gay people went to, and all Dallon could do was accept his grim future with shaky hands that pulled his shirt over his head.

Fuck, tonight had been so eventful Dallon nearly forgot about the small miracle he'd experienced at Ryan's house, gently reliving the feeling of Ryan's hands on his neck. Dallon slipped underneath the covers of his bed and caressed his chest, trying to replace all thoughts of his mother with memories of Ryan's lips, tongue and hands.

A soft groan dribbled past Dallon's parted lips, rubbing the space between his pecs, imagining that it was Ryan's hands on him, and not his own lanky ones. Ryan's hands might be smaller than his, but they were so much stronger, holding onto Dallon with years of practice behind them.

Rubbing his chest was something Dallon had been doing since he was in high school, when the... uh... thoughts begun. While he was terrified of being caught with his hand around his... thing... Dallon knew he could enjoy the excitement of rubbing his bare chest, imagining a strong man leaning over him, telling him how to touch himself to make it feel good. And while his dick would tent in his boxers, begging to be touched—even a _graze_ would do—Dallon would silence his whines by biting his pillow, another man's voice filtering through his head.

It had been awhile since Dallon let his mind run off the rails, but if there was anything he needed tonight, it was the distraction. This time he didn't need to create a perfectly strong man to lean over him, mind fabricating a deep voice to tell him how good he looked—this time, he had Ryan.

Oh, Ryan. Ryan leaning over him, Ryan's whispers licking at his ear, his rugged hand on top of Dallon's. He would guide Dallon's fingers around his nipples, pressing him down into the bed as he'd make those wonderful noises, lips latching onto Dallon's neck.

Now he was properly aroused, dick straining against the fabric of his boxers, almost as red and Dallon's face. It was pulsing, pressure growing in Dallon's gut, turning over onto his stomach so his hips could properly jerk into the mattress. Oh gosh, he'd never gone this far before, actually envisioning a man on top of him, letting his mind detach from his body, rutting against his bed like he'd lost all control. Dallon _had_ lost all control, pledging to do anything as long as it meant he wouldn't have to think about tomorrow.

"Oh, o-oh _Ryan_." Dallon let the name spill from his mouth, too far gone to realize. The only thing on his mind was Ryan, Ryan's body, Ryan's smell and Ryan's lips. Ryan Ryan _Ryan_.

His eyes were scrunched shut, pushing his face into the pillow harshly, gripping it so tight it might burst into a puff of feathers. Dallon knew he wasn't _properly_ masturbating, but the friction his cock was getting from being trapped between the mattress and his body was good enough to send stars into Dallon's vision, heat creeping into the pit of his stomach and laying there.

If Dallon was more conscious, he'd be ashamed of the way he was thinking, mind flashing through images of what Ryan would look like without any clothes on. He prided himself on his record of being the shy virgin, the one who was too afraid to think about sex, blushing at the thought of anything slightly sexual—but right now, Dallon couldn't care less about his reputation.

It was already tainted by that text; why not go full disappointment? Besides, the feeling of his cock grinding against his bed was too good to stop, letting all of his holier-than-thou morals disappear into the dampness of his drool-soaked pillow.

Heat laid heavy on his skin, burning up with every little jolt of his hips into the hard mattress, unsure which noises he was imagining and which ones he was actually making. All of them were muffled by the pillow, but some slipped out past the fabric, room filled with little "oh"s and "ah"s as the images in his head grew clearer.

Ryan's chest—R-Ryan's _dick_. Ryan with his pants off. Ryan's eyes glazing over Dallon's bare body. Ryan's tongue sliding next to Dallon's, slick and warm, noises dying off as soon as it left one pair of lips into the other.

Ryan.

Gosh, Dallon was obsessed at this point. All he'd done in the past week was think about Ryan, and now, he'd gone as far as thinking about being intimate with him. It must've been the horrible expectation of tomorrow's fate that gave Dallon the courage to think such raw, dirty thoughts, letting all past prejudices against sex go.

Maybe all that had been holding him back was his constant need to please his parents, to outshine Jordan in terms of purity and morals. And now that there was no turning back from that terrible text, a weight had been lifted off of Dallon's chest, finally allowing him to break the rules of his religion without feeling that insurmountable guilt.

Dallon wasn't going to lie; it felt _good_. Not just the friction on his cock, but the knowledge that after he was disowned by his parents, he wouldn't have to uphold the same image he always did. He would finally be free from his parents' reign, from all the inane rules that chained him down to the floor of his bedroom, re-reading lessons over and over again until they were permanently branded into his brain.

He could finally let go of those lessons, of the fine print that was written on the wrinkles of his brain, of page numbers and laws and commandments that trapped him in a little box.

Dallon could be himself.

Dallon could be the true Dallon, the one who loved his boyfriend, who liked sci-fi movies and junk food and writing songs about murder. The Dallon who was allowed to think these _natural_ thoughts, to let himself be attracted to another human being without worrying about who was seeing him.

And while tomorrow was going to be a nightmare, tonight Dallon was lent the comfort of knowing his mistakes would go unseen, because nothing could top the colossal failure of being gay. At least in the eyes of his parents, that was.

Dallon's hips sped, fucking the mattress endlessly, too deep in his pleasure to care about what was right and what was wrong anymore. It was as if his body didn't listen to the conscious part of his brain anymore, toes curling, back arching, golden warmth flushing through his face as he felt himself near.

N-No, Dallon couldn't finish, not now. Technically it wouldn't be his first time—his first wet dream hadn't been so kind to him—but it had been a long, long time since Dallon last came, and he didn't really feel like pushing his body through that, let alone getting out of bed after to clean up the sticky mess in his boxers.

So Dallon put all his willpower into slowing his hips, panting into the threads of his damp pillow, weakly pushing himself up on his elbows to wipe the spit from his swollen lips. In the heat of the moment, Dallon hadn't even realized he'd basically been making out with the pillow, overwhelmed by the idea of kissing Ryan.

Hey, maybe things would work out. While Dallon would be losing his family, he'd found a new one, hadn't he? With two chaotic brothers, one with tennis ball fuzz for hair, and the other with a painted face, both immature enough to replace the callowness of Dallon's childhood. And Ryan could be the balance in the middle of chaos, sitting there smugly with his deep-set eyes and Cheshire-Cat grin, and his perfect lips and hands that could work more miracles than Jesus. Okay, that was a bit far. But right now Dallon was bouncing off the high of his makeshift masturbation, feeling more inebriated than he had while drunk—it wasn't like he was going to kick himself for admiring how amazing Ryan was.

Ryan _was_ amazing, and he probably knew how to deal with homophobic old people, among the long list of other things Ryan knew. Like how to make a guy go crazy.

Crazy enough to fall asleep with his name on Dallon's lips, a smile gracing his mouth at the sleepy thoughts of Ryan that passed through his weary mind. It was like Dallon had been hypnotized, mind wrapped around Ryan's strong finger, with all of its callouses and shiny bits.

He was the first person who had ever taken interest in Dallon, who had seen him as more than the shadow behind Jordan, or the weird kid in the corner of the classroom who never spoke up. People always wanted to be friends with Dallon to get closer to his star-spangled brother, or to ask for homework answers, even though Dallon didn't know the answers himself.

Yet Ryan looked past Dallon's outer shell of awkwardness, past the years of standing alone in the darkness of his brother, past sweaty handshakes and nervous stammering. After every test of embarrassment and unpleasant sweatiness, Ryan had still chosen Dallon to be his boyfriend, the weird dork who was caught staring in a gay bar.

Shouldn't that be enough to put a smile on Dallon's face as he slipped away into easy rest?

A heated dream started to form on the horizon of Dallon's mind, like the sun rising over a river after a long winter. The last time Dallon had a wet dream, it had been about the gym teacher at school and the coarse way he barked at Dallon that made his stomach feel funny. That has been years ago back in high school, but the abrupt ending of Dallon's kiss-abstinence must've coaxed his brain into creating a hot dream, one that made him toss and turn in his sleep.

The world of Dallon's dream was blurry, like his eyes had been replaced with kaleidoscopes, gold, red, and green panes of glass flashing behind his eyes. While he couldn't see, Dallon was aware of a pair of hands caressing his neck, dipping down his chest to undo his collar—just like in the gay bar.

"Ry... Ryan..." Dallon mumbled softly, certain that it was Ryan who was nimbly unbuttoning his shirt. In his dream, the scent of Ryan's cologne was thick, overpowering Dallon's nose as that pair of veiny hands started to slide off his shirt.

"Dallon... my body wants you..." Ryan whispered just as softly, voice like the gentle purr of a cat. His tone was usually deep, but now it was even lower, smooth and curling with arousal.

A high-pitched gasp dripped past Dallon's lips, noise cut off swiftly by Ryan's velvety lips, somehow the same flavour as red-velvet cake. It was hard to keep up with Ryan's hands, slipping down his bare chest like he was blind and trying to remember how a man felt, lingering when they reached the cusp of Dallon's jeans.

"Mm- Ry... Tell me what it wants..." Dallon murmured, confused as to where his sudden ability to form a coherent sentence was coming from.

"You- you-" Ryan repeated, dropping below Dallon's chin to kiss a path down his neck. Dallon's breathing had grown heavy, panting into the silent air of wherever they were, sitting in the blissful abyss of Dallon's dreamscape. His eyes fluttered shut like a weight hung off his eyelashes, letting his other senses sharpen, as if he could feel the heat radiating off of Ryan's warm skin.

Another whiny gasp left Dallon's lips, throwing his head back in slack-jawed bliss when Ryan's blind hand found his crotch. It squeezed the base from outside his jeans, sending sparks of wonderful stimulation all throughout Dallon's abdomen, like a firework had gone off in his stomach.

" _Oh_ ," Dallon choked out, knees buckling beneath him as Ryan squeezed again, rubbing Dallon off through his all-too-tight jeans. He collapsed onto a soft surface, a mattress that hugged him from all angles, as feathery and soft as a cloud and just as fluffy.

His brain had good taste—the red-velvet cake, the mattress that was softer than anything he'd ever felt, and the way Ryan was crawling over him on the bed. Dallon couldn't remember the last time he'd dreamt something so wonderful, but then again, Dallon was having a hard time remembering anything; Ryan's hand trailed down Dallon's limp body, gently fondling his cock, making Dallon's mind go emptier with every tiny touch.

"Ryan- oh, I need to tell you something..." Dallon let his mouth go slack again when Ryan tightened his hand, drool dripping down the side. It might just be a hand job, but Dallon was slowly losing his mind, resisting the urge to push his hips into Ryan's cupped hand. A pit of excitement was growing in his stomach, the collage of stained-glass that laid behind his eyes only growing brighter every time Ryan's quick hand moved.

"What is it, Dallon? Gonna come?" Ryan teased, stopping for a moment to fumble with the zipper of Dallon's jeans. Then his big hand was tenderly lifting Dallon's hip so he could slide off his jeans, pausing on the band of his underwear. By now Dallon was fully hard, tenting his boxers, a tiny wet patch marking where the head of his cock was sliding against the fabric.

Dallon shook his head frantically, gulping for air when Ryan pulled down his boxers swiftly and finally rubbed his bare cock, thumb swirling around the head. The way Ryan was gazing hungrily at Dallon's cock didn't help Dallon's situation, jerking against his stomach excitedly at the prospect of getting rubbed off.

"Uh- I-I-" A blush swept Dallon's face, tongue suddenly tied into a knot. He wanted to tell Ryan that he was a virgin, that he had never done anything like this before, but it was difficult even in his dream-world.

Oh, what did he have to lose? Besides, this was Dallon's wet dream, and it wasn't like confessing to Ryan would somehow make things worse. If anything, Dallon was hoping he'd be turned on by the thought of Dallon being a shy, blushing virgin, modest and quiet as Ryan corrupted him, completely spread open on the bed.

Mm, that would be so _hot_. But right now it was just future food for thought; Dallon was preoccupied with watching Ryan stroke his cock through hazy eyes, world blurred beautifully around both of them.

"Ryan... I'm... I've never done this with anyone before..." Dallon whimpered, full on _whimpered_ , drool dribbling down his chin. He couldn't make out the exact features of Ryan's face, but he felt his hand tighten around his cock, jerking a little more roughly.

"You're a virgin?" Ryan repeated, as if he was hoping to confirm that what Dallon said had been real.

"Mhm," Dallon nodded, blush deepening as Ryan started to slowly stroke him, teasingly dragging his finger up and down Dallon's cock. He'd start at the base, fingertip tracing a path up his dick ever-so-gently, coaxing Dallon's cock to jump again.

"Fuck, that's so fucking hot," Ryan swore under his breath, voice suddenly two octaves lower. "I bet you've never had someone blow you before either, huh?"

"B-Blow?"

"Suck your cock."

_Oh._

"N-No, no, I want it!" Dallon cried out, kicking his legs up in desperation. Ryan's mouth on him sounded like the best thing ever at that moment, especially because his hand had stopped touching him all together, leaving Dallon's cock red and whining for attention.

"Beg for it." Ryan's voice had gone cold and sharp, so wonderfully deep Dallon felt like Ryan lived inside his head. The sudden change in demeanour made Dallon's cock jump against his stomach, digging his heels into the bed as another layer of crimson flushed through his face.

It was humiliating, being so useless and naive underneath Ryan, bodies threatening to press together as soon as Ryan stopped holding himself up. Oh, Dallon wanted that—he wanted it badly.

He _needed_ to be touched, to relieve the dull throbbing in his cock, to finish and let go of that rising pressure that inhabited his entire lower half. And Dallon would do anything to have it be Ryan who got rid of that pressure, to have Ryan help him finish. To have Ryan help him _come_.

Even if it meant debasing himself.

"Ryan, Ryan, put your mouth on me, touch my cock, please!" Dallon whined, eyesight clearing a bit, blessing him with Ryan's dark eyes, sharpening on his rosy face. But Ryan didn't move, expression indifferent to Dallon's pleads, even though he'd asked as politely as he could.

"I- I need it, I'll be good for you, I'll do anything Ryan, _anything_ ," Dallon rambled, not caring what noises or words were falling out of his mouth alongside his saliva. "I'll- I'll do anything you say, I'll be obedient, just- _please_."

The dark caves of Ryan's eyes deepened, another shadow falling over his stone-cold face, jaw tightening at Dallon's whimpers. The sudden darkness of his usually sunny attitude made Dallon clench his legs, another wave of arousal washing over his burning skin.

"Fuck, you're dirtier than I thought," Ryan swore under his breath, eyes flickering from Dallon's wriggling body to his sweat-soaked face. "You're gonna be a good boy? Do exactly what I say?"

"Yes R-Ryan, yes sir." Dallon stammered quickly, not noticing the title that slipped out of his mouth all too easily. Ryan had gone from so kind to so _dark_ in a split second, it made Dallon's stomach flutter in that wonderfully weird way.

He had so much power over Dallon, and while that was something Dallon normally hated, he'd let Ryan step on him any day. Maybe it was because he knew under all those layers of ice and shadows was the biggest sunshine, the type of guy who held open doors and surprised Dallon in his loneliest of times. And Dallon knew that while Ryan might be teasing him in one way, underneath that mean decorum was a bubbly personality.

Or maybe it was just because Ryan was hot, and Dallon was horny.

"Good boy," Ryan murmured, pressing a quick kiss to Dallon's parted lips before slipping down his body, trailing his fingertips down Dallon's thighs. He paused for a few breaths, kneeling in front of Dallon's cock and observing it with fascination, pupils blown unimaginably big.

Dallon gulped for air, straining his neck to watch Ryan stick out his tongue, just barely touching Dallon's cock. Even that was enough to make Dallon's back arch off the bed, attempting to roll his hips forward into Ryan's mouth, whining feebly when Ryan pulled his mouth away.

And then, before Dream Dallon could figure out what was going on, Ryan was wrapping his lips around the head, taking Dallon in fully until he hit the back of his throat, sucking softly when-

"Mm- ohh- oh, fuck!"

Dallon woke up to the sound of his own moans with a jolt, pleasure crashing over his aching body. Being awoken by an orgasm wasn't his favourite way of waking up, especially because it swept him off his feet entirely, clutching onto the blankets with his face scrunched up in ecstasy, and a hint of pain.

Oh, he was _coming_. And it felt too good to comprehend, every nerve in his body lighting up, eyes filled with white and gold as his cock pulsed inside his boxers.

"Oh- oh, oh, yes," Dallon choked out, burying his face in his blankets as his cock gave one final jerk, shaking from how hard it had hit him.

Oh, gosh- that was _amazing_.

Dallon laid paralyzed on the bed, letting the white cool from his vision, panting and riding off the wave of euphoria his orgasm had given him. It had been a long time since he'd come like that, and it hit Dallon's body out of nowhere, gasping for air to keep up with how quickly his lungs were heaving.

Fuck.

What a dream.

His sudden high had rid his mind of all worries, laying face-up in bed and staring at his ceiling, mind gently falling from the clouds back into his physical body. Dallon had never had a dream like- well, a dream like _that_. And more importantly, Dallon had never come so hard after a dream, rendered speechless and paralyzed in bed while his mind slowly regained competence.

Dallon's body was shaking, everything suddenly too sensitive on his crotch, a weak little whimper escaping his chest. He knew he was too inexperienced to handle an orgasm like that, but it wasn't like Dallon had control over his dreams, especially when they were as enticing as that.

Oh, yuck. When his hands finally unclenched, Dallon pulled back the covers to examine the sticky mess in his boxers, a wet patch quickly drying onto the outside.

A quick peek outside revealed that it was a few hours before dawn, the idle sound of a car passing by muffled by his window, blinds falling back into their original spot when Dallon rolled back into his bed.

Fuck.

What had just been the best high of Dallon's life was suddenly freezing over into a low, mind bombarded with every single worry he'd had in the past weeks.

He couldn't go around having dreams like that- especially when they were about another man. Especially when they were about _Ryan_ , who most likely wouldn't appreciate knowing that Dallon had dreamt of him sucking his cock. And if he did appreciate that, well-

Dallon wasn't ready to think about what that meant. And he _especially_ wasn't ready to face whatever conversation would preface being blown by Ryan, where he'd have to confess that he was a wimpy virgin. A wimpy, Mormon virgin, who was hiding his entire life from his parents.

_His parents_. Dallon had been so caught up in the specifics of his wet dream to remember what catastrophe had occurred last night, the ticking time-bomb of a text he'd sent to his mom.

A groan came from the depths of Dallon's soul, muffled by his pillow as he jammed his face in it. The mess in his boxers was drying too fast for comfort, and Dallon didn't feel like having to shower with such a heavy weight over him, so with heavy limbs, he dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. It wasn't easy to completely ignore his phone, face-down on the carpeted floor, buzzing and lighting up at such an incredible speed you'd think it was a buzzer on a late-night game show.

He didn't want to face his parents right now. Especially after such a good dream, one where every dark, sexual fantasy he'd had was finally granted. It wasn't like Dallon had been exposed to enough pop-culture to have proper fantasies,, so his "special" thoughts usually panned out to be pretty weird, with an unbalanced power dynamic and lots of humiliating.

It was weird; when anyone else humiliated Dallon, he absolutely despised it. But add a mattress, a few pillows, and his man of choice, and Dallon was more than happy to be called dirty names, to be teased and mocked until tears were streaming down his face and his cock was hard enough to cut diamond.

Dallon flipped on the bathroom light with a heavy hand, shoulders slouched over like the entire weight of his future hung off of them. To be fair, Dallon normally had the posture of a shrimp, but it seemed to worsen with stress and anxiety.

Before reaching under his sink to get a washcloth, Dallon hesitated for a moment in front of the bathroom mirror, taken back by his own appearance. His hair was skewed in every direction, dried saliva caking his cheeks and jaw, eyelids heavy and swollen from crying. A few red marks lined his neck, no doubt where he had touched himself last night, hand tightening when he imagined that it was Ryan playing with his collarbones oh-so-delicately. And to top off his costume, a wet pair of boxers, hugging his bony hips and showcasing every detail of his dick from where the come had dried around it.

Fuck, he was a mess.

Was it bad Dallon... liked it?

Like he had just had a scandalous one night stand with a man, marks left as a gift for the next morning, when Dallon could admire them in the mirror. He'd display them like a fine piece of jewelry, wearing an extra low-cut top so everyone could see what he'd been up to the night before, a wild shine in his eyes. Onlookers would stare in awe as Dallon passed by, whispering quietly among themselves in disbelief at his sudden gain of not only a sexual partner, but confidence.

And Dallon would no longer be known as the weird kid, with his hair combed over neatly for church and his most modest clothes thrown on in a hurry.

No, Dallon could finally take charge of his own reputation.

Dallon could be himself.

If only he could be himself without having to deal with whatever homophobic messages awaited him.

It wasn't like they would be coming out of nowhere—Dallon had heard his parents say the same things about gay people time and time again, about where they went after they died, or what sin they were committing, or how it was wrong and beastly. But even though Dallon knew exactly what their messages would read, he still wasn't prepared for them, worried that he wouldn't be strong enough to handle them.

What if Ryan wasn't strong enough to handle them either? Dallon had nearly forgotten that he'd attached Ryan's phone number to the message—what collateral damage was Ryan dealing with right now?

What if Ryan broke up with Dallon, all because of his stupidly homophobic family and their insults?

Dallon's knees went weak beneath him at the thought, grabbing onto the bathroom counter and steadying himself. Fuck, he couldn't lose Ryan too—it seemed people were disappearing from his life at light-speed, leaving Dallon all because of an idiotic mistake he'd made. First it would be his family, then Ryan, and what next? The Brobecks?

Dallon couldn't handle losing them either, but at this rate, he might as well be writing his goodbye note to the band. There was only so much gayness that straight, half-Mormon dudes could take before their deep-buried prejudices could surface. And what if Dallon getting his first boyfriend was the final straw?

Not that he'd have a boyfriend for much longer. Dallon hadn't even checked his phone yet, and he still knew what vileness was awaiting him, a sea of never-ending text messages and phone calls that would swallow him whole. And Dallon was a part of their family, someone who they'd once loved; what would they be saying to his boyfriend?

It was ironic, how his entire life Dallon had been taught to be kind to strangers in the name of the Lord—but as soon as that stranger was anything but the spitting image of the perfect Mormon, it was free reign, digging up the nastiest insults they could just because someone was different.

That was the thing that made Dallon's blood broil, slamming the cupboard door shut angrily and throwing himself down on the toilet seat like a frustrated toddler. A pang of disgust struck him when he pulled down his underwear, gritting his teeth together at the oversensitivity of his dick. Dallon wished he was sexually active enough to have built up a bit of tolerance, but the truth was, orgasming took a lot out of his body—especially since he hadn't in so long.

Still, Dallon groaned his way through the dull pain as he cleaned his crotch, leaving his underwear bunched up on the ground and rinsing out the washcloth. He was stalling having to check his phone, trying to put it off for as long as he could before Dallon would inevitably have to face the monster he'd created—a big, homophobic monster, with the Book of Mormon between its slimy claws and a million different ways of breaking Dallon's heart.

So Dallon languidly brushed his teeth, then his hair, combing it over and over until there were tiny ridges in his bangs. He leaned over the sink to inspect to inspect himself closer, dragging his numb fingers over his face as a knot of dread formed in his throat.

Eyes and lips. A pointed nose. Oily skin and miscellaneous freckles. A beauty mark on the underside of his chin. Tiny scars; a teardrop one on his eyebrow, and a jagged one under his lip. And a line of worry knit between his eyebrows, one that had lived there for years.

C'mon Weekes. You can do this.

You've been doing this for years. How was today any different than the last twenty-two years of your life?

And this time, he had a boyfriend by his side—that was, if Ryan hadn't been hit with the wrath of his family.

"Ugh," A pained groan was raked up from Dallon's lungs, turning on the tap and rinsing his face once.

Twice.

A third time, when the ice water began to seep into his pores, sliding down his jaw and dripping from his chin. Great, now his skin was as cold as his heart felt.

Fuck it.

In what felt like the slowest three seconds of Dallon's life, he strode over to his vibrating phone, ignoring the dirty thought that passed through his mind all too easily. Late night television had poisoned him, hadn't it?

One step. Two step.

His hand was shaking, vision warping as he picked up his phone like it was drenched in gasoline, and his fingers were matches.

A buzz. Another buzz. Dallon flipped over the phone hesitantly, squinting at the screen through his eyelashes, like he didn't want to face what he'd done.

The screen was flashing with message after message, each new one piling on top of the previous, all from different people he'd once loved.

Mother, father, aunts and uncles, grandparents, cousins; they were all alike, disowning Dallon and reminding him how much of a failure he was. His mother was the worst, a spider of dread crawling into Dallon's heart when he saw his inbox, body going cold.

42 missed calls from her alone. Plus 78 text messages, 3 emails, and a message from his landlord. Dallon couldn't wait to hear what nonsense she'd told his landlord, or how much longer Dallon had to live in his apartment until he was kicked out—he wouldn't put it past his mother to lie about him just so he would lose his one place of refuge and be forced to move back in with her. He didn't even want to think about what that would mean, terrified at ever facing his family again.

With his breath hitched in his throat, Dallon reached for his glasses and slid them on, preparing himself mentally for whatever mess he was about to dive into.

MOM: What will people think of us now, raising a son who turned out to be a homosexual?

MOM: They warned us about this when you were younger, you know. I wanted to get you help before it's too late, but your father said no. Look what happened.

MOM: Dallon James Weekes pick up your phone right now.

MOM: Your father and I are in tears at this decision. I don't know why you hate us so much

MOM: I thought you loved your parents but I guess I was wrong

MOM: If you open your heart and stop this nonsense maybe me and your father will allow you to move back in with us.

MOM: I'll talk to the pastor about therapy. I don't know who put the devil into your head, but maybe it's not too late to fix you

MOM: You're not our son until we deal with this silliness

It was worse than Dallon had expected.

He hadn't even realized that there were tears filling his eyes, too busy trying to read every message that popped up onscreen, even though he knew they would only hurt him more. They seemed to engulf his heart in frost, stabbing him right where it hurt most—in his desire to be accepted, to be seen as a good enough son for his parents. And now Dallon knew he'd never be good enough again, forever seen as the child who brought sin to the family's name.

It shouldn't hurt so bad.

Dallon had always known his family wouldn't be accepting, hadn't he? So why was he in so much pain, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand and sniffling, unable to stop the broken sobs that made his body shake?

Dallon's thumb trembled as he went to press the call button, hoping he could reason with his mother. Deep down he knew that she'd never be reasoned with, and that nothing he could say would change her mind, but Dallon yearned for it so badly he didn't care if it was impossible.

He just wanted to be loved for who he was. And he didn't care if talking to his mother was only going to make the pain double; Dallon had always known he was wishing for something he'd never get.

He just needed to try.

"H-Hello?" Dallon's voice came out smaller than he'd hoped it would, trying to calm his stuttering breaths before she could hear the hurt in them. If he showed his mother just how much she'd crushed him, Dallon would lose any advantage he had over her, not that he had one currently withstanding.

The phone sat in silence for a few moments, a stillness so deafening Dallon thought he was dying.

"Why would you do this..." His mother uttered, like speaking to him was a cardinal sin. Dallon swallowed hard, marveled by the vileness of her tired voice.

"What do you-"

"Is it for attention, Dallon?" Her voice had hardened, materializing into a dagger that teased Dallon's weak heart. "I don't understand why you'd want to break up our family like this—we tried so hard to stop this from happening. I don't understand."

"It's- mom, it's-" Dallon's voice started to warble, breathing heavily through his nose to regain his composure. Tears pricked at his bleary eyes, but Dallon forced them to cling to his eyelashes, praying that they wouldn't drip down his face. As soon as the first tear hit his cheek, Dallon knew he wouldn't be able to hold them back anymore, sobbing and sobbing into the phone until his eyes ran dry and his heart ran empty.

"It's n-not a _choice_ , mom-" Dallon finally managed to squeak out, drawing in a shaky breath and ignoring the pang of anguish that struck his heart. "I-I didn't choose t-to make you mad—I didn't chose to make you hate me. D-Don't you think I w-want you to love me?"

The dam against his tears was starting to crack, hunched over on his bedroom floor like he'd been shot in the chest, glasses sliding down his nose. Dallon couldn't bothered to push them back up, barely able to hear his mother over his short sobs, attempting and failing to swallow them down.

"Dallon, it's not natural. That man has put the devil into your head, and made you think that you like men." His mother sounded exasperated, like Dallon was nothing more than a little kid who didn't know any better.

That man? Was she talking about Ryan?

Had she talked to Ryan?

If Dallon was losing his family, he couldn't handle losing Ryan too. That would leave him alone and loveless, with no prospect of things ever getting better; and Dallon didn't know if he would be able to survive such a loss.

He'd barely survived the first twenty-two years of his life without Ryan—Dallon didn't know if he could do it again.

"Did you text him?" Dallon didn't bother masking the panic in his voice, scratching at his carpet nervously. It was far too late to hide his emotions anymore anyways; he'd already let his walls break down in front of his mother, and there was no building them back up.

Dallon had only been out of the closet for seven hours and he was already contributing to gay stereotypes. Great.

"I left a voicemail about staying away-"

Dallon couldn't hear the rest of her sentence over the rush of blood in his ears, black spots clouding his vision.

She left Ryan a message. About staying away. From Dallon.

Goodbye, future date plans. Goodbye, perfect nurse boyfriend. Goodbye Awsten and Remington, and all the things Dallon hadn't had a chance to try.

Goodbye to finding the real Dallon Weekes, the one who'd been hidden from the world for his entire life, afraid of disappointing people who would never truly accept him.

"-that you'd want to be with the type of man who doesn't answer his phone, let alone a man at all." His mother's voice came back into earshot once Dallon's ears stopped ringing, staring numbly at the floor. The realization had hit him so hard that Dallon nearly forget he was sitting naked on his bedroom floor, clutching a phone to his ear, face soaked with snot and tears, chest covered in scandalous red marks.

His room looked like a scene out of a movie; the sun had began to rise outside, tangerine light dancing off of every reflective surface in the apartment, including Dallon's orange bass that sat at the end of his bed. Laundry and half-unpacked groceries dotted the floor, surrounding Dallon in a mess of misery and uncleanliness, a reminder that he was too stupid to take care of himself.

And in the middle of it all sat an exhausted man, hunched over in agony, with his knobby fingers buried in his forest of brown hair. Everything in that moment seemed to scream the word failure, every chore he'd never completed, every tear that rolled down his face, every little whimper that slipped out past his cracked lips:

Failure. A disappointment. Someone who would never be accepted, no matter how much he tried.

Dallon Weekes.

"...I-I have to go," Dallon sniffled, hanging up the phone before his mother could comment on the weakness of his tone. He let his phone slide out of his hands, hitting the ground with a muffled thud, all too loud for Dallon's drained ears.

The room was suddenly cold, much too cold for Dallon's bare skin, like a thousand tiny flowers of ice had budded in his pores. He let a tired shiver roll off his shoulders, looking around the room for something to wrap himself in; Dallon didn't plan on getting off of the floor any time soon, wallowing in self pity and heartache.

He was so... empty. Everything he'd been wanting to say for the past ten years had been ripped from him in the worst way possible, one that ended despair and complete solitariness.

Dallon should be happy that he'd come out, shouldn't he? The weight of his sexuality had hung over him since the day he discovered he was gay, like a shadow that followed him everywhere, reminding him that he was different than everyone else.

So it being gone should be a good thing... right? Or had Dallon found comfort in his secret, knowing that he was still safe for the time being, and that his family still accepted him even though he wasn't his true self?

Fuck, Dallon didn't know. And it was too early in the morning to be processing something this huge, mind pulling double shifts to keep him from passing out right on his bedroom floor.

All he wanted was a hug from Ryan, one that would remind him that there was still warmth and goodness in a world that was designed to hate Dallon. While his family might be despicable against gay people, Ryan _was_ gay, and probably knew what it was like dealing with homophobic old people.

Screw falling asleep on the floor—Dallon was going to consult Ryan, hopefully before he checked his phone for messages. If Dallon got there fast enough, maybe he could delete the message entirely, erasing whatever vileness his mother had spat into the one minute message limit.

Dallon shot up to his full height, grabbing his hoodie off his rumpled bed and ignoring the damp spot in the middle that hadn't entirely dried yet. A light blush crossed his face at the thought of his dream, wishing Ryan was kneeling on his bedroom floor right now, kissing his thighs lovingly. Oh, the way he'd squeeze Dallon's calves, laying little kisses to every inch of his lower half-

No, no. Dallon had to stay focused. Finding Ryan was his top priority; after that horrid voicemail was deleted forever, Dallon could give himself time to fantasize all he wanted.

He wouldn't mind bringing some of those fantasies to life, either. But that would only happen if Ryan hadn't broken up with him already—Dallon couldn't really see himself being intimate with someone he wasn't dating.

Besides, who would want to be with Dallon for purely sexual purposes? It wasn't like freakishly tall, sweaty, virgin guys were in high demand—Dallon might be an idiot when it came to the modern world, but he knew enough about what people liked to know that it wasn't him.

It shouldn't sting so bad, knowing that Dallon was a virgin for a reason other than his religion's rules. But the time-sensitive threat at hand was more important than any anxiety Dallon had about getting laid—if he didn't hurry, he could completely forget about ever graduating from virgin to... uh... what was the name for people who had sex?

No, no time! Dallon shook his head like he was scrambling his thoughts, letting the most important one float to the top: deleting the message. He didn't know how he'd get hold of Ryan's phone without looking suspicious, but he'd cross that burning bridge when he needed to. Right now, all that mattered was getting dressed, boarding the bus and praying that Ryan wasn't at work.

Dallon hopped on one foot as he pulled his dirty jeans up his leg, blindly feeling around in his drawer for a clean pair of socks. It was marvelous, the way he'd just done laundry, and yet he was already out of clothes. Pant shopping was a bit harder when you're a 6'3 introvert with social anxiety and need to ask the worker about a longer pair.

He grabbed his phone from off the floor and his crutches from the side of his bed, clunking his way out the door and down the stairs as quickly as he could. On regular days Dallon wasn't the most coordinated individual, but add a cast and two metal sticks, and he was as steady as a ballerina with a broken foot. That's why Dallon was praying that nobody saw his small tumble at the bottom of the stairs, picking himself up and brushing off his sweater.

Dang it, he should've worn the sweater Ryan thought was cute. Dallon hadn't forgotten about that, when Ryan stood next to him and rubbed his back, close enough that Dallon could smell his old spice deodorant.

Was that weird? Probably. Didn't matter now; Dallon wasn't going to psychoanalyze their relationship, not when he was boarding the bus on the way to Ryan's apartment.

Dallon spent the entire bus ride staring at his shoes, eyes glued to the frayed ends as they bobbed with every bump in the road. He couldn't stop thinking about what it would be like if Ryan had already listened to voicemail, or what it would be like to be dumped in person. Dallon had never been dumped before; what if he couldn't handle it? What if it was worse than television made it out to be?

What if Ryan finally saw the true Dallon, the wimpy dork who hid beneath layers of sweat and dirty clothes, the Dallon who cried when he was scolded over the phone? And what if that Dallon wasn't good enough for Ryan?

What if that Dallon wasn't good enough for anybody?

The electronic ding of the bus speakers reminded Dallon that he was on his way to Ryan's to delete a destructive voicemail that he may or may not have already seen. The apartment building—which had once struck joy into Dallon's weak little dork heart—only struck fear into his chest, standing in front of the doors and debating whether he should even dive into this mess.

How was Dallon supposed to explain the entire history of his homophobic religion to Ryan? More importantly, how was he going to explain to Ryan that his mother had left him a rude voicemail that was probably full of insults about which level of hell Ryan had spawned from?

To be fair, Dallon didn't really care if Ryan was a demon sent to hypnotize him into being gay. It would explain why he was so hot, or why Dallon hadn't stopped thinking about him since the first second he'd laid eyes on Ryan.

Before Dallon knew what he was doing, he was in the elevator, pressing the number for Ryan's floor with a sweaty knuckle. It was far too late to turn back now, especially because his body seemed to be on autopilot, refusing to listen to the tiny goblin that screamed in his ear.

"Noo! Noo! You can't see Ryan, you can't!" The goblin's tiny claws scrabbled at Dallon's ear, trying to stop him from limping his way down the hall toward the neon door. "He's not gonna want to deal with this mess- he's going to leave you!"

Dallon brushed his inner goblin off his shoulder, scratching the nape of his neck nervously. The tiny drawings seemed to mock him this time, especially the one of the face-down bassist, another reminder of who Dallon truly was.

There was no need repeating it—Dallon could nearly see the words printed over his doodled-head, pencil spelling out the one word that defined him.

Disappointment.

Oh gosh. Was he really going to do this? Face Ryan, one on one, and reveal the dysfunctional family he'd grown up with?

Nobody wanted to date someone with this much baggage. Dallon was a pretty big project on his own, but his mommy and daddy issues were another problem all together. Not to mention his struggle with religion, his self-esteem issues, and the fact that he'd grown up in his own little bubble without ever experiencing... _anything_.

It was a miracle that Ryan had even talked to him in the first place—Dallon screamed the word 'unstable', along the many other words that he wore like colourful jewelry.

And as he stood outside Ryan's door, staring at the mahogany wood in front of him, Dallon couldn't help but wonder what word he was wearing right now.

"Please don't be at work, please don't be at work," Dallon chanted quietly to himself, raising his arm to knock on the one bare spot on the door. But before his knuckle could meet the wood, the door swung open to reveal Remington, a leather purse swung over his shoulder.

"Dallon! What's wrong?" His cheerful complexion disappeared after one look at Dallon's face, as if he was reading whatever word was printed on Dallon's forehead.

Was it really that obvious?

"Oh, uh... I-I just need to see Ryan." Dallon didn't feel like pouring the nightmare of his past twenty-four hours on a stranger, especially one as nice as Remington. Even though Remington looked like he'd just stepped out of a nightmare, black charcoal smudged across his eyelids, lipstick scratched up his cheeks like he'd put it on with an electric drill.

If Dallon wasn't in such a rotten mood, he would have asked if the power went out that morning, seeing as Remington looked like he'd gotten ready in the dark.

"Is he here?" Dallon tried to politely look past Remington into the apartment, searching for that familiar head of brown hair.

"No idea, I haven't seen him all morning. I think Awsten knows where he is though, if you wanna ask—he's just studying in his bedroom." Remington leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Dallon's cheek, patting him on the shoulder as he scooted by, leaving the scent of hairspray and thick perfume in his trail. "I'm off to see my brother, but hey, if you see Ryan, could you ask him to hide the peanut butter? Emerson's allergic and he's coming over later."

"Wh-huh? Oh, sure..." Dallon was still processing Remington's kiss, hand flying up to inspect the sticky coating of lipstick he'd left on Dallon's cheek. Was this something normal people did? Kiss each other on the cheek and breeze past it like it was nothing?

It wasn't nothing to Dallon. In fact, he was still a bit dumbfounded even after Remington was long gone, thinking about how... nice it felt.

Don't get him wrong, it didn't feel anything like kissing Ryan. But it had been so long since Dallon had been kissed in a lighthearted manner, and he'd never had a friend that would dare kiss him on the cheek.

Remington was... his friend.

Dallon liked that. It was almost enough to distract him from the fact that Ryan wasn't home, and could be anywhere in the world at this point. More importantly, his phone could be anywhere in the world, one click away from ruining Dallon's only adult relationship.

Dallon dragged himself into the apartment, closing the door behind him and taking it all in. What if this was the last time he would ever see Ryan's apartment and all its quirks?

Awsten's door was cracked open the slightest bit, a neon blue light shining through the slate. Dallon pushed it open cautiously with the end of his crutch, eyes adjusting to take in the psychedelic trip he'd just walked into, one that put Wonderland to shame.

Awsten's bed was unmade and rumpled, stacked high with blankets of every different animal pattern; cow, leopard, zebra—if you could name the animal, its print was on a blanket on Awsten's bed.

His walls were lined with posters of movies Dallon had never seen, with heavy-chested women and men with guns, or superheroes posed to look valiant. Alongside the shiny film of the posters were old records, taped to the wall, with colourful patterns painted over their ridges.

Dallon's eyes traveled from the walls to the glass cabinet in the corner, containing... baseball bats?

Not just any baseball bats—pink and purple ones, with little plastic teeth glued to them. At least, Dallon was praying that they were plastic; he knew Awsten was quite the character, but he didn't think he was psychotic enough to be in possession of human teeth.

And then, in the middle of all the chaos was a little green-haired man, hunched over his desk and nodding his head along to the song he was listening to. Awsten hadn't noticed Dallon in the doorway yet, eyes shooting from his laptop screen back down to his paper, mouthing the lyrics to the faint music coming from his oversized headphones.

"...Awsten?" Dallon tapped him on the shoulder, shying away when he whipped around and yanked off his headphones.

"Dallon!" Awsten squealed, face spread into a giant grin. Dallon didn't know if this was how he greeted everyone, but it made him feel pretty damn special, blush unnoticed in the neon blue light of the bedroom.

"Uhm, wh-what are you doing?" Dallon didn't want to spring the Ryan question on Awsten immediately, especially because he'd just shown up in his bedroom randomly. Dallon's feelings towards Awsten extended past just being Ryan's roommate; he genuinely liked Awsten, and wanted to get closer with him. He just didn't want Awsten to think he was only talking to him because of the former.

"Just studying boring nurse stuff," Awsten gestured to his pile of papers, shuffling them around until they were sitting in a pile. "Never become a nurse Dallon, I'm tellin' you. At this point I'm considering becoming a stripper—I mean, I obviously have the body _and_ the hair for it."

Dallon chuckled nervously at Awsten's words, trying not to picture what that would look like. He felt so awkward, standing out of place in the middle of Awsten's room, with his tear-dampened face and half-broken glasses. If his life was a rom-com, Dallon would be the male version of the nerd girl before her magical transformation into her crush's ideal woman, even though she would just take off her glasses and shake out her hair. What those movies didn't show was the scene where the freshly-changed nerd girl ran into a wall because she didn't have her glasses on, or the scene where her crush dumped her because she was the same wimpy dork on the inside.

Dallon had a feeling that that scene would be the next one in the tragic rom-com of his life, the one where Ryan dumped him. That was, if he could figure out where Ryan was.

"Yeah... um, do you know where Ryan went? I need to talk to him..." Dallon shifted his weight from his healthy foot to his cast, wincing slightly at the dull pain.

"Uhh, I think he went downstairs to do something with the plumbing?" Awsten leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over the back of his head and throwing his feet up on his desk, showcasing the colourful socks he had on. They were covered in tiny koi fish, as if Awsten's feet were two tiny ponds, fish curling around his wriggling toes.

Dallon cocked his head in confusion. "Plumbing?"

"Yeah, something about fixing something for the building? The landlord has him go down there every week and do work on our electrical, or something like that," Awsten dismissed it with the wave of his hand, sighing and leaning back in towards his study notes. "If you really need him, he's probably in the basement somewhere."

Why would Ryan be down in the basement if he was fixing something electrical? Dallon was his building's handyman in return for a deduction on his rent, and he knew enough about old buildings to know that their electrical systems weren't in the basement.

Whatever—he wasn't going to contemplate Ryan's apartment building's choices in architecture right now, especially when there was a voicemail he had to delete. If Ryan was busy working on something, there was a good chance he hadn't checked his phone yet, and their relationship was still salvageable.

"Th-Thanks, Awsten. And uh- good luck with studying." Dallon tripped over his words and his feet on his way out, readjusting his glasses with the back of his hand and saying a silent goodbye to the apartment he may never see again. While it was an absolute disaster, there was something charming about the apartment and its chaos, as if the mess was comforting. Then again, Dallon was accustomed to messy rooms after living alone in his own cocoon of dirty laundry and old blankets.

The elevator only went down to the ground floor, so Dallon spent a few minutes stumbling around the lobby like a drunken uncle at a potluck, searching for this mysterious basement that Ryan had disappeared to under inscrutable circumstances. A part of Dallon—the deepest, darkest corner of his brain—was hoping that Ryan had a dark secret that he used the room for, like torturing criminals, or turning dorky Mormons gay.

Ryan was such a sweetheart—the other shoe was bound to drop eventually, wasn't it?

The unruly section of Dallon's brain just wanted to be there when it did.

Finally, Dallon found a dusty door labeled 'BASEMENT EXIT', pushing it open tentatively like a monster was waiting to maul him at the bottom of the stairs. He descended the dim staircase slowly, blinking rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the darkness surrounding him, soft dripping noises echoing through the damp basement.

Was Ryan really spending his Tuesday morning down in this cavern, working away on some electrical issue, covered in grime and dirty water? Although, Ryan _would_ be pretty cute covered in dirt, like a tired car mechanic.

Fuck, Dallon was hoping that Ryan was down here. The further down the stairs he clunked, the colder and darker it got, dripping noises turning into full-on splashes. Dallon shivered at the dampness that seeped through his hoodie sleeves, heart hollowing out at the sound of the basement door creaking shut behind him.

Great. He was trapped down here in this dark labyrinth, ears straining to pick up anything other than the splashing noises, growing increasingly louder as Dallon reached the bottom. His foot met a puddle at the last step, face moulding into disgust as the muddy water soaked through his sock, coaxing his shivers to double in strength.

"...Ryan?" Dallon called out helplessly into the darkness, expecting to be met with the familiar roundness of Ryan's deep voice. Nothing answered him except those gentle sloshing sounds, like something was swimming around down here—hopefully not in the puddles.

So help him God, if Dallon discovered some mutant swamp creature down here, he wasn't banking on ever returning to the surface. He might be as skinny as a tree, but Dallon still had some meat on his bones—meat that would be appetizing to a sewer mutant.

Dallon's heart began to race, squinting to make out another human, whether it be Ryan or not. Heck, at this point, Dallon would take anyone; if he wasn't alone down here, he didn't want his only company to be that of a slimy basement beast.

"Hello? Anybody?" Dallon inched his way towards the opposite wall, finally recognizing the murky silhouette of a door. Maybe Ryan was in there, tinkering away all alone, wearing a cute pair of overalls with grease smudged on his cheek.

Yeah, Dallon was leaning into the mechanic fantasy a little too much, but then again, his first gay crush had been on his highschool auto-shop teacher.

The thumper of Dallon's heart began to drown out the splashing noises, which were only growing increasingly louder as he approached the door, blind hand meeting with cold metal. His shoe was completely soaked in mud-water by now and his cast was halfway there, all of The Brobecks' sharpie signatures blurred into the plaster.

If Ryan wasn't behind this door, Dallon was going to lose all hope in ever finding him down here. He'd nearly forgotten about deleting the voicemail, the only thing on his mind being finding Ryan and getting the heck out of this miserable wetland of a basement.

It took all of Dallon's flimsy arm strength to heave open the door, wedging a crutch between the doorframe and the big metal slate and forcing himself through the opening. Bright overhead lights flooded Dallon's vision as he slipped into the room, nose greeted with the overpowering smell of... _chlorine_?

What had Dallon stumbled upon?

"Ry...?" Dallon was careful not to slip on the tiled ground, turning around a corner to discover a pool, stretching down the entire room. Speaking of the room—it was massive, ceiling spanning higher than should be spaciously possible, walls coated in curls of lime rust and the reflections of the pool. They danced off of the ceiling like jellyfish, sheets of light fluttering along to the ripples of pool water, fluorescent lights casting reflections throughout the entire room.

And in the pool, sitting idly at the bottom with a magazine in his hands and a fish tail curled under him, was...

"Ryan?"

Dallon was surprised by the squawk of his own voice, echoing a thousand times through the watery colosseum as he approached the edge of the pool. He nearly lost his balance rushing over, blinking and rubbing his eyes in disbelief at what he was seeing.

What the hell was Dallon looking at?

This had to be the product of hallucination—a water snake must've swam up and bit him in the ankle, poisoning his clean brain and forcing him to dream of such a thing. Right?

Ryan couldn't possibly be... uh... um...

An amphibian? A reptile? Dallon didn't even know what species he was classified as—heck, Dallon was frozen in his spot, watching Ryan flip the page of his magazine and continue reading like nothing had happened.

There was no way that was a costume; no one could hold their breath for that long. Correction—no human could hold their breath for that long. But Ryan...

His eyes finally met Dallon's from underwater, widening in fear as he abandoned his magazine and swam to the surface, giving Dallon a better view of whatever he was.

There were little gems and jewels dotting Ryan's face like freckles, clusters of them bunched together under his eyes, as if his cheeks were the night sky and they were the stars. They flattened down the further Dallon's eyes trailed, turning into shiny little scales once he reached Ryan's collarbones, tiny patches of skin replaced with the opaque blue shell. Under his chin were two sets of red slits in his neck, three on each side, expanding and shrinking with every breath Ryan drew in.

Gills. Ryan had gills. Heck—Ryan had a _tail_ , swishing beneath him as he merely gawked at Dallon in awe, like _Dallon_ was the sea creature. His tail was the same shade of blue as his decorations, iridescent in the bright lighting of the room, fins clearer than the rest of the limb. Two rested at the side of his tail, two fanning out at the end like butterfly wings, flopping back and forth as Ryan kept himself afloat.

Dallon couldn't breath.

"D-Dallon, what are you doing here?" Ryan blurted out, voice lighter than normal. Maybe it was just his exhaustion talking, but Ryan didn't sound like Ryan, voice echoey and emptier than normal.

It was almost... hollow, in a melodic type of way. And Dallon didn't know whether to like it or not.

Heck, Dallon was still processing what he was seeing, staring at Ryan with his jaw on the floor and his lungs bound together like balloons.

"Wh... wha... h..." Dallon couldn't force his mouth to work, eyes burning from how long he'd been keeping them propped open, unable to blink. What if Dallon blinked and woke up face-down on the basement floor, revealing that this was nothing but a hallucination?

Dallon was praying for a hallucination, he really was. But the more he inspected Ryan's floating body, the more it became jarringly real, mind jammed with how much new information he was being fed.

"How did you... how are you... what the hell, Ryan?"

Dallon had finally found his voice, but it was angrier than he wanted it to be, like it was Ryan's fault he wasn't human. Well, it was technically Ryan's fault, but deep down Dallon knew he couldn't control it.

He was so mesmerized with the way that Ryan floated that Dallon didn't notice the word slipping out of his mouth inadvertently, accidentally crossing another item off the list: using the Lord's name in vain. Dallon wasn't going to count this one, seeing as it wasn't technically the Lord's name, and the fact that he had the right to swear just this once.

He'd just found out his boyfriend was a mermaid, for Christ's sake.

"I'm sorry! To be fair, I didn't think you'd ever figure it out..." Ryan pushed his wet hair out of his twinkling eyes, gripping onto the edge of the pool and resting his head on his arms adorably. Dallon swore he could see the promise of a pout on his lips, looking up at him through thick, lacy eyelashes, eyes pleading for forgiveness.

Was Ryan using puppy-dog eyes on Dallon just to stop him from getting mad?

Obviously.

Was Dallon going to fall for it?

Absolutely.

"What is all of... this?" Dallon gestured to Ryan with his crutch, sitting down on the floor across from him and trying to calm the rapid flutter of his heart. Finding out Ryan's secret was thrilling in the oddest way, like Dallon had done something he wasn't supposed to.

It was exhilarating, basking in the presence of an otherworldly creature. Sure, Dallon's heart had been full of dismay at the idea of meeting face-to-face with a sea creature, but this was better than whatever mutated turtle he was imagining.

Ryan actually was pretty adorable for a sea monster, if that's what he even was.

"Alright, listen," Ryan sighed, hollow voice sending chills down Dallon's spine, like his words had reverberated off of Dallon's bones. "Yeah, I'm a mermaid- but you cannot tell anyone, I'm serious Dallon. If word got out..."

Ryan trailed off, shaking his head disapprovingly and glancing away from Dallon's prying eyes. "I-I'm sorry, I understand if you want to break up. It wouldn't be the first time something like this happened anyways..."

Dallon's heart twisted violently in his ribcage, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. The sudden fragility of Ryan's voice made him look smaller than normal, like he was nothing more than a tiny tadpole, clinging to the side of the pool in desperation.

People had dumped Ryan before because of something he couldn't control?

Dallon's first thought hadn't been about breaking up with Ryan. It had been about whether he was dreaming, and then how adorable Ryan looked, and then about how merfolk had sex.

C'mon, the thought was bound to cross Dallon's mind eventually. Did Ryan still have a dick? Was he stuck like this forever, trapped in this chlorinated pool for the rest of his life?

How was Dallon supposed to explain this one to his parents? If they couldn't accept a man as Dallon's partner, Dallon didn't think they'd be excited about a sea creature.

"I-I'm not gonna break up with you, Ryan..." Dallon sighed and let his crutches fall to the floor with a clack, sitting down in front of the merman. Only then did Dallon notice the webbing on his hands, thin tissue stretched between each of Ryan's fingers, ringed with lapis lines and opalescent shine.

"It's just a lot to take in, y'know?" Dallon finished his sentence, eyes lingering on Ryan's bare chest, admiring how good he looked without his shirt on. From their position, Dallon could only see from his chest and up, disappointed that he couldn't conclude his hypothesis about Ryan's dick.

Man, he'd really changed since last night.

"What do you want to know?" Ryan changed the position of his arms, resting his chin in the upright palm of his hand, skin gleaming in the white light. More than anything, Dallon wanted to reach out and touch Ryan's face, but he settled on keeping his hands at his sides and asking a question instead.

"How long have you been like... this?" Dallon gestured to Ryan's iridescent tail.

Ryan crooked his head in thought, raising his eyebrows and staring into the distance. "Oh, hm, lemme think now... about a month?"

"Really?" Dallon couldn't believe it.

"No, silly, I've been like this my entire life." Ryan flicked water up at Dallon and giggled, his laughter resembling a soft clicking sound, almost like a dolphin's. "God, you're lucky you're cute."

"Shut it." Dallon grovelled, unable to stop a smile from spreading on his face. "So you were born, uh, um..."

"You can say it, I won't be offended." Ryan joked again, sliding his hand up his cheek and through his wet hair. "A mermaid?"

"Yeah, th-that." Dallon didn't really want to say the word, more or less because it would confirm the fact that Ryan wasn't human—and that Dallon had fallen in love with a mermaid.

"Technically, I'm half-mermaid half-human." Ryan said, flexing out his hand in front of him and examining his webbing. "My mom was a human, and my dad was a siren, which makes me a mermaid-human hybrid. Imagine an electric car having a baby with a gas powered car- that's me."

"A car?" Dallon snickered, shielding himself from the water droplets Ryan send flying his way. "Okay, okay, just- why are you down here? Will you ever come back up?"

"Of course! I'm not stuck like this forever, if that's what you're worried about."

Uh oh—could mermaids read minds too? Because if so, Dallon was going to have some explaining to do.

"Every couple of days my body starts changing, starting with the scales on my hand-" Ryan held his palm out to Dallon, letting him take the webbed claw into his own hand. There were tiny scales dotting the creases of Ryan's hand, shiny little squares and trapezoids that would easily be mistake for glitter-

The night at the gay bar. _The thing on Ryan's hand was a scale_. It suddenly clicked together in Dallon's mind—why he'd left so quickly, and why he had something shiny on his hand.

"-so I rush down here when I'm at home, or to the pier when I'm at work, and stretch out for a little while." Ryan finished his sentence with a bright smile, cheekbones shimmering with the twinkle of a thousand stars.

Oh, he was _ethereal_. Dallon couldn't stop his heart from melting at Ryan's smile, complete with the dazzle of his gemstones, eyes adorably crinkly.

If Dallon had thought he was in love with human Ryan, gosh, wait until he met mermaid Ryan.

"What happens if you can't make it to the water in time?" Dallon asked, letting go of Ryan's wet hand reluctantly. Slimey was the wrong word—it was more... slippery, like the texture of blubber, water-resistant so that Ryan's hands wouldn't get wrinkled if he stayed underwater too long.

One downside: they couldn't really hold hands while Ryan was in his mermaid form, webbing stretching too high for Dallon's fingers to interlock.

"I mean, I can push it off for a few hours if I reeeally try, but I don't really get to decide when my body wants to change— it's supposed to be in tune with the moon, or some bullshit like that."

Dallon piped up with the first thought that crossed his mind. "Like a period?"

Ryan laughed again at Dallon's words, clicking sounds more full this time. Dallon didn't know what to think of his new laugh just yet, getting used to the little changes in Ryan's tone, like the echos or the otherworldliness of it all in all.

It beat being dumped by Ryan, that was for sure.

"Sure, like a period. Except instead of blood, I get to swim around an abandoned pool for a couple of hours." Ryan smiled with teeth this time, lips drawing back into a full grin. Dallon was taken back by the unusual sharpness of them, pearly whites filed into individual fangs, thinner than human teeth.

Dallon's eyes caught something else swirling around Ryan's tail, translucent in the bright overhead lights of the pool. It resembled dead skin, hanging onto Ryan's shimmering tail by a few pieces like he was ready to shed it any moment now.

"Um, what's-" Dallon gestured to the clear tissue, swishing side to side with every idle movement Ryan made to stay afloat. "-that?"

Ryan glanced down at it, mouth twisting into a grimace at the sight of the skin. It was as frail as tissue paper, a faint pattern of scales lining it, texture growing clearer as Ryan pulled it off his tail and brought it above water.

"The chlorine in the pool isn't very good for my tail, and it's been awhile since I've been in freshwater." Ryan scrambled to ease Dallon's concern as soon as their eyes locked, a small smile crossing his dimpled face. "I mean- I'll be fine, it's just not what I was made for."

"You don't have anywhere else to go?" Dallon asked, shifting his legs so they were crossed. The sight made Dallon's heart twist; mermen probably weren't supposed to shed their scales like that. Dallon might not know anything about Ryan's species, but he had passed 4th grade and knew that fish didn't normally shed their skin.

Ryan shook his head, pushing his hair out of his eyes and leaving his face speckled with drops of water. He was especially cute like this, scales crawling up and down his arms like pieces of jewels stuck to his skin, hands decorated in those flaky gems of the sea. Some dotted his face like freckles, a striking resemblance to the glitter Dallon sometimes wore at shows, reflecting the florescent lights as Ryan bobbed on the surface of the water.

In that moment, Dallon wanted nothing more than to touch Ryan's face, to feel that glitter under his fingertips. He reached out before pausing, remembering that ordinary people didn't like having their faces caressed without permission.

"Could I- could I touch your face?" Dallon swallowed hard after asking, face beginning to burn slightly. It was an odd question to ask, yet Ryan only nodded his head and shifted forward a bit, tilting his chin and batting his eyelashes in mock flattery.

Dallon hesitantly extended his arm, gently brushing Ryan's cheek with his thumb. The gems were bumpy under his finger, but their edges were smooth, like they'd been eroded after years of being underwater.

Other than that, Ryan's face felt the same as it did the first time he'd kissed Dallon, with the scratchy stubble on his jaw and an adorable sparkle in his dark eyes.

And in that moment, that singular, solidarity moment, Dallon couldn't believe that Ryan was real, sitting in front of him with all of his otherworldly magic.

More so, Dallon couldn't believe how much he loved him.

"Why'd you come down here in the first place anyways?" Ryan reached out to play with the damp cusp of Dallon's jeans, drying slowly in the humidity of the room. Dallon couldn't do anything but stare in awe at Ryan's hand, still overcoming his sudden wave of emotions.

"Uh..." How was he supposed to go about telling Ryan what had happened? What if it was too much for Ryan, and Dallon scared him away? Earlier this morning breaking up had been a terrifying prospect, but now, Dallon couldn't fathom living in a world where Ryan didn't like him back.

"M-my parents... I-I accidentally came out last night, and they-" Dallon had to gulp back a whimper at the thought of the messages, all the agony returning to his chest and making a home out of his heart. "They- They left some really mean messages- and- and now I don't know what to do."

Dallon held his breath in anticipation, worried that Ryan wouldn't react well to the news that Dallon's family was homophobic. But Ryan's face muscles only tightened into a look of sympathy, eyebrows knit closely together, a frown pulling at his lips at Dallon's words.

"Oh Dal..." Ryan cooed, reaching further up Dallon's leg to anchor his hand to Dallon's knee, stroking the taller man in reassurance. The nickname only made Dallon's chest tighten even more, struggling to keep his cries at bay.

Right now, all Dallon wanted was to sob into Ryan's shoulder, to let his exhaustion and his lost expectations out in the form of tears and snot. To be pat on the back, to be called 'Dal' in that soft tone, to be cared for and loved and appreciated.

Dallon wanted everything his parents had never given him.

Was that so much to ask for?

"That's horrible, I'm so sorry," Ryan crooned, voice almost fuzzy around the edges, warming Dallon's cold heart. A tear rolled down Dallon's cheek before he could stop it, splattering onto his thigh and leaving a small mark, many more to follow after. Ryan's words had been the last thing Dallon could handle today, so perfectly gentle that they touched Dallon's heart in its most sensitive spot—his desire to be cared for.

Dallon couldn't jam his tears back into his eyes thing time, letting them spill one after one, sobbing quietly as Ryan rubbed his leg in comfort and watched him with pity. The sorry look on Ryan's face only made Dallon double over and clutch his stomach, crying harder than he had in years, letting all the tension he'd been holding ever since he'd sent that text go.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" Dallon didn't even know what he was apologizing for, knocking his glasses sideways as he dried his tears with his sweater sleeve, wiping his nose and praying he didn't send snot halfway across his face. It was embarrassing enough, breaking down in front of Ryan and crying like he never had before, savouring the little affection Ryan was giving him—and Dallon felt the need to apologize for his fragility.

"Hey, what are you apologizing for? You didn't do anything wrong," Ryan said softly, voice so damn gentle Dallon almost started bawling again. It was as if Ryan was speaking to a baby fawn, afraid of scaring it away if he raised his voice any louder.

"I-I shouldn't have told them anything- I knew th-they weren't gonna accept me. I don't know why I-I'm crying," Dallon hiccuped his way through his sentence, breaths stuttering as he tried to even them out. "They've never liked me, and-and this was th-the last straw,"

Ryan's eyes shone with understanding, a shared recognition sparking behind them. The speckled features of his face softened in realization, squeezing Dallon's knee with a deep reassurance.

He knew. He knew what that was like, what it was like to have people not like him because of his sexuality.

Someone else knew what that felt like. And someone else cared.

It was almost enough to fill the hollowness in Dallon's heart, swelling with the wonderful feeling of being recognized. Of being _known_ , and being appreciated for who he was.

For being comforted when he was at his lowest, something nobody had ever bothered to do before. And Ryan wasn't going to leave him after seeing Dallon break down—although, that might just be because he didn't have any legs to walk away on.

"Well hey, listen Dallon," Ryan began. "I'm here, and I'm not leaving anytime soon. No matter what your parents say, you're allowed to be whoever you want to be, especially if that means being true to yourself. And- on the bright side-"

Ryan grunted softly, earning Dallon's full attention as he pushed himself up on the ledge of the pool.

"Look, I got toes!" Ryan swung his foot up on the edge with expert flexibility and wriggled his toes, wearing a goofy grin. His cheerfulness was the perfect cure to Dallon's sadness, and Dallon couldn't help but let a small smile cross his face at Ryan's warm smile.

"Let's go upstairs and I'll make you some lunch, okay?" Ryan's light-heartedness was contagious, alleviating some of the pressure on Dallon's tired heart. Nothing sounded better but a good, homemade meal in Ryan's breakfast nook, surrounded by people who didn't care who Dallon was.

Sometimes, Dallon just needed people to care less, especially when those people were related to him. And Ryan had said it himself—he wasn't going to leave Dallon anytime soon.

Dallon couldn't help but let a smile cross his face reaching for Ryan's now fully human hand and pulling him out of the water, averting his eyes as he put on his boxers and pants. Yeah, Dallon was 99% sure he was in love with Ryan, but he was still going to give him privacy as he changed back into clothes, and he knew Ryan would do the same for him.

Their relationship was funny like that, but maybe that was a good thing. There was still so much Dallon was trying to understand, but right now, as Ryan kissed his cheek and led him up the stairs of the apartment building, Dallon accidentally outing himself to his mother was the last thing on his mind.

I mean, how badly could it go? His mother must've suspected something for years, and even though her homophobic tenancies got in the way, she still loved Dallon.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOAH
> 
> wow
> 
> this chapter is really long
> 
> and that twist??? wow. i am so blown away.
> 
> alright, i'm kidding, i've been planning this since chapter one dfhg but maybe ryan's otherworldly presence explains why dallon is so infatuated with him? hm, just a thought..... ;)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed! and i hope everyone is doing well! dont feel shy about leaving a comment, i know i say this alllll the time but they really do make my entire week <333 thank you for reading!!


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